


Underestimated

by ReconstructWriter



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Also Semi-Divine Revelations, And a Little Reading the Books, Bullies Regretting Their Life Choices, Gen, Mortals Find Out, Percy Jackson Books in Percy Jackson Universe, Shameless Excuse for Mortal POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-08-19 06:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20205283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReconstructWriter/pseuds/ReconstructWriter
Summary: Percy Jackson was 'That delinquent who set the school on fire' and 'That new kid who's mom was dating Mr. Blofis'…until he wasn't. Until the weirdness began making horrific sense and Mist-shrouded mysteries become clear.





	1. Chapter 1

"New kid on the block," Chelsea commented lazily. Then she continues her essay due next class: 'On the Use of Rhetoric to Obscure the Lack of Content.'

From the shelter of friends, I watched the new kid search the cafeteria for someplace to sit. Last in line meant he was the only one standing and his shoulders seized beneath our stares. Face stormy, he marched stubbornly to the back corner.

Becca followed my gaze. "He looks lonely. Shouldn't we invite him over?"

"The guy who set the school on fire?" Okay, it wasn't the nicest thing to say. Being the new kid sucked and this guy started out with a worse rep than Matt, who set his pants on fire last year. But setting your clothing on fire is funny. Setting the school on fire is arson.

"Rumor. I got a peak at that video and it wasn't him. Fire was coming from that white cheerleader what's-her-name," said Chelsea.

Becca munched thoughtfully on a veggie fry, probably trying to recall who 'what's-her-name' was. And failing for the first time. "What grade was she in?"

I shrugged, but Becca wasn't asking me about names. I couldn't even remember New Kid's name. He was nibbling on his pizza, not the least criminal-looking. I looked away.

Becca, who was a freaking mind-reader, parroted my thoughts, "New school. Doesn't know anyone. Besides, Daniel wouldn't mind another guy in the group once he gets better."

"And I'm sure this guy was heroically stopping bullies when he got expelled from all those other schools," I shot back, flushing. Chelsea and Becca had been the ones to welcome me in their group back when I was the new kid.

"Expulsion don't mean nothing," Chelsea sneered. "I got my ass kicked out for the horrible crime of curly hair—"

I said nothing, but come on? Can you blame me for thinking the worst of a kid who got kicked out of every school he's ever been to? That does not happen with hairstyles.

"—manager almost complained about that. Oh, I didn't tell you about my new job. Guess who the manager is?"

"Voldemort," said Becca.

"Worse, Donald. You know the guy two grades above us? Total hypocritical asshat. He's always, 'your lazing on the job, blah, blah, blah' and in the next sentence it's 'got a two-hour phone conference with the boss'. Bullshit. I'm not overhearing any talk about profits or employee retention. That old saying about teachers only being bad 'till you meet your boss? Too true."

"Well, at least it's not Tomson," I pointed out.

"You don't know a person until you've worked beneath them," said Chelsea. Then she paused, "That came out wrong."

"Also true," Becca joked.

"Maybe find a janitor job. They don't have any co-workers," I suggested.

"You can work as a janitor. They couldn't pay me enough to clean up after some of these people. You'd think their mothers never taught them to wipe their asses."

"Aaaannnnd time for a topic change," Becca said, "I'd like to enjoy my lunch thank you."

"Said like an only child," Chelsea shot back.

The door banged open and a red-head still covered in paint-stains bolted through, lunch bag clutched in one multi-colored hand. She glanced around a moment, spotted New Kid and made a bee-line for him. He perked up immediately.

"There, see, he has a friend," I told Becca.

"Okay," Becca said gently. "Isn't the new Harry Potter movie coming out? Are you off this weekend Chelsea?"

"Nope. Weekends are the only time I get a full-shift. Besides, tickets sold out weeks ago and you ain't getting through the front door without one."

"Point. Sometime after school?"

"It would be so cool to be able to do magic," I said.

"It would be incredible," Becca said. "I would love to become an Animagus, especially something that could fly."

"Nah, if people were meant to fly, we would have wings," Chelsea argued. "Besides, turning into animals is nothing next to the Expecto Petroleum spell."

"Ha, ha."

"Or Howlers for my boss, send him a couple dozen for those every time he has a 'phone conference'."

"Don't know if that would change anything," Becca shot back. "But that's why I'm glad magic doesn't exist."

"Yeah, can you imagine the crap we'd get up to if we were wizards," I said. "The pranks pulled. Everyone would have switched genders at least three times. Wait. Actually that would be a good reason to have, I know a few people who could use the old switcharoo."

"No, things are crazy enough right now without throwing magic into the mix," Chelsea finished. "But I could make a Monday or Tuesday to see some magic."

"Could I see that video? The cheerleader one?" Becca asked.

"Oh not this again."

"Sure, just give me a few. A friend up-loaded it on their youtube channel."

Minutes later we were all huddled around a computer in an empty classroom, watching a blurry cheerleader—must be a cheerleader, she was wearing the right outfit—as fire blossomed by her side. New Kid rushed forward, swinging a bat so fast I could hardly make it out.

"Okay, so she started the fire, but you still want that guy sitting with us Becca?" Just as I spoke, he swung the bat one last time and the cheerleader…I squinted. Had he killed her?

"It's too blurry to tell," said Becca desperately.

Chelsea said nothing for a moment. "Well we know the school budget sure ain't going to security."

"Could the video have been manipulated?" Becca asked, "It wasn't blurry everywhere, just around the cheerleader and Jackson's…bat."

Chelsea shook her head, "You can't manipulate a video like that."

"There would be blood. If he'd…there would be a dead body. And the school wouldn't let a killer in as a student." But Becca didn't sound so sure.

The cheerleader's body blurred and vanished. I didn't know what to think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all for the Kudos!

"—blood-horcrux was a happy accident. Dumbledore had no plans for Harry Potter living. He was raising the kid like a lamb to the slaughter," Chelsea finished. She shouldered her straining backpack and slammed her locker door.

"Point," Daniel said, following her, "But better than Voldemort. I mean that guy was insanely sadistic and wanted to slaughter at least a third of his own people."

"Bad verses worse but I wouldn't lay down my life for bad. Rather form my own side than go with someone raisin' me like a rooster for the butcher's knife."

"A pity you can't discuss Shakespeare so articulately," Mr. Blofis commented in passing.

Becca and Daniel stiffened. I hunched my shoulders beneath the shadow of a teacher. Chelsea gave the English teacher a level stare, "Cause he sounds like all the other dead white dudes."

Becca stepped closer to Chelsea and gave the English teacher a level stare, "She's right."

Mr. Blofis smiled, "Well then, since I am going to be reading two dozen essays about Shakespeare already, why don't you pick a better author than Shakespeare and explain what makes that author better?" With that, he headed out of the cafeteria and toward his car.

"I think you just got handed even more work. Ugh," I raised a hand against blinding sunlight.

"Well ain't that just typical," Chelsea grumbled. "Better give me extra credit. Seriously, why don't we read the color purple? That's up there on the big favorite classic books teachers wank over."

"Thank you for that mental image," Becca said.

"Or we could hit the mythology," Daniel said, digging into his backpack. "Now that the Harry Potter series is officially over—"

"They'll milk that giant cash cow after it's dead," Chelsea motioned with her hands. "The Harry Potter series will never die."

"But the sequels will suck," Daniel pointed out. "Besides, imagine Harry Potter mixed with Greek mythology."

"Go ahead and tell us before you burst," Becca said.

"The Olympians series. Imagine if the old Greek gods and monsters and demigods and all that myth were actually alive today?" He waved a book in front of us, showing a kid that looked like a darker version of Harry Potter with horrible taste in fashion. "It's about this kid who's a son of—"

"Bastard!"

Daniel flinched at the voice. One we learned to recognize real quick but none more than Daniel, who occasionally got the wrong kind of attention for hanging out with us. Stomping across the sports field was the Dudley Dursley of Goode High School: Shawn Tomson. Mr. Blofis must have been the last teacher leaving. Guess even they didn't like to drag out a Friday afternoon but it meant prime opportunity for the less than rule-abiding.

Tomson didn't glance at Daniel though, making a beeline for another head of dark hair. The crowd parted, revealing a beat-up blue t-shirt hanging off it's unlucky wearer.

"That's the kid who's mom is dating Mr. Blofis," Daniel whispered.

"Forget teacher's pet, that's awkward," Chelsea drew out. "Surprised it took this long for Tomson to swing his dick."

"Did anyone see where Mr. Blofis went?" Becca asked. Weird fetish for white dead guys aside, Mr. Blofis knew to keep his mouth shut if someone blabbed about a beat-down. I glanced toward the blacktop.

"Wait." Daniel caught my arm, "Look."

"Dan, I've seen what Tomson did to you," Becca warned. It had been one of the more horrifying experiences of high school, getting him to the doctor's, "What would he do—?"

"To Jackson?" Daniel scoffed. "Have you heard the rumors about him?"

Hard not to. When a kid gets expelled that many times—people talk. Some said last school he'd gotten into a bomb-fight with a gang. The school before that he'd drowned someone. He set a school bus on fire and dumped his entire class into a shark tank.

And I'd seen proof he was that dangerous. Blurry or not, I'd seen the cheerleader's body fall beneath his bat.

Maybe Tomson hadn't seen the video, but the rumors flew everywhere. I've heard about those schools too. Yancy still uses paddles and switches and took juvie students. Whatever else you might say about Tomson, he's either got a lot of spine or not a lot of brains to go up against a guy kicked out of corporal punishment school for criminals.

"What if he gets hurt?" Becca asked.

"Give Jackson a cookie," Daniel said darkly. "Tomson ain't taking him down, I've seen the guy in the locker room. Wicked scars," he raked a hand across his chest, "Like he works out by wrestling crocodiles."

"What if Jackson…" Becca trailed off, but I wasn't the only one remembering that video.

Chelsea scoffed, "And this was the guy you wanted to invite to our table a couple of weeks ago?"

Tomson must have heard the rumors. Or seen the scars. He was backed up by every bully in school. They circled Jackson until we could only see brutish bodies clad in sports armor. No one could hear what he said to Jackson, but everyone saw his fist.

Then he was gone. Fangster flew through the opening left by his leader and two hit the ground so hard I could feel it through the soles of my feet. None of us saw the guys go down, it happened before another fist was raised.

Tweet!

Miss Parker stormed toward the fight, thin lips pursed around a whistle and flint in her eyes. Her hair wasn't bound in a bun, but I wouldn't be shocked if she whipped out a wand and turned all the boys into frogs. Becca trotted beside her. Jackson faced the teacher, suspicion on his face and a hand clenched in his pocket.

Surrounding him were half a dozen other guys, some trying to pick themselves back up, others horribly still. For a crazy moment I feared…but Tomson crawled out from under one of his buddies and another guy gasped. All alive. Percy Jackson stood calmly, like this was nothing.

Holy shit.

"…accepted you here only because, despite everything else, you don't have an actual delinquent record." The teacher waved a red pen like a wand at Jackson. "Detention young man. A week's detention."

Something in his rigid face made the whistle drop from her lips, but he followed when she turned around, hand never leaving his pocket. They vanished into the school. I remembered to breath. The bullies picked themselves up, limping away with sullen glares, daring people to comment. A red-head, someone Dare, glared back before following her friend. The intimidating effect was shattered when a nurse rushed over, "…no, no, don't move. Just you sit down dears."

"Bastards," Daniel sneered at the bullies.

"Yeah," Chelsea nodded toward one, "And my esteemed boss."

"You gonna tell Miss Parker?" I asked.

"Like she'd believe me."

I hesitated. I'd seen the video but…Jackson hadn't started the fight. Didn't look like he started the fight with the cheerleader either. Though he sure ended it. Could this get rid of Jackson? Could it break him faster?

But my best friend had a boss who was a bully and going to get away with it again because Jackson was spotted ending the fight. I slunk away from the field and, once out of sight, bolted for Miss Parker's room. The door was shut—not that it helped, because I could've heard them through stone—luckily it wasn't locked. I hesitantly slipped into the room. Percy sat, arms braced on the desk and a thumb nudging the cap of a pen while both Dare and Miss Parker ignored their own chairs.

"—never strike another student!"

"I didn't hit any of them. I know my own strength."

"Mr. Tomson is one big bruise, Mr. Flipsen had the wind knocked out of him and if those students hadn't been wearing football padding—"

"Excuse me ma'am," I whispered in the silence that followed. "Tomson threw the first punch. I saw him."

Dare smirked, as though I'd just confirmed what she'd been verbally beating into the teacher. Parker's face turned more severe but she nodded. Jackson flashed me a smile. A crooked expression from a guy who'd beaten up half a dozen other guys in a second, from a guy who might have murdered at least one person. My stupid heart still skipped a beat. "Just wanted to let you know."

The teacher sighed, "Then Mr. Tomson and his cohorts will be given detention as well. We do not tolerate any fighting in Goode," she glared at Jackson.

"So I see," he said.

"Which doesn't excuse you from your own actions. Consider that detention doubled."

Sounded like my cue to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Had to do the obligatory bully scene.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Regarding 'The Olympians' series. In canon Percy Jackson wrote books about Greek Gods and heroes. Rick Riordan writes as though present in-universe so the books are present in the Percy Jackson-verse and a few students at Goode are reading it. Not that anyone believes Percy Jackson actually is a son of Poseidon. Because that would be ridiculous.

No one messed with Jackson after that. The fight was all anyone could talk about for the next two days. I mean, the guy took down six bullies larger than him in two seconds. Who outside an action-movie hero does that?

"…heard his father was murdered by the mafia and he trains for revenge," Daniel explained.

"You've been watching too much Batman. I heard the camp he goes to is a terrorist cult and for initiation they have to bring back the head of their first kill," I said.

Becca sighed, "Tomson's out of hearing range now so you guys can cut it out."

Goode's resident bully limped toward a corner table that was coincidentally as far away from Jackson's typical place as possible. With eyes like a racoon's mask, nose all taped up and his bad leg, Tomson looked like a prize boxer after his final fight. Hard to believe Jackson only tossed him into another bully.

"Do you think he heard us?" Daniel asked.

"With that color of face," Chelsea remarked. "Either he heard us or he's dying of zombie plague."

"Couldn't have happened to a better guy," I said.

"That would be disgusting," Becca complained. "If you want to run an anti-bullying organization, we can do that but Tomson's had enough."

"This is the bastard who beat the shit out of Daniel so bad he needed a hospital visit and two months to recover and would've done the same to you for telling Blofis—"

"I know," Becca said harshly. "If hate could be beaten out of people, I'd come here every day with a cudgel and a paddle but if beating the bad out of people worked, we'd all be holy. Besides, Percy can hear us too. Would you like everyone thinking you're some kind of gang-trained terrorist?"

"Yes," said Daniel.

"They already do," said Chelsea.

"Well he doesn't," Becca jabbed a finger. I turned around and sure enough, Jackson sat glumly beside Rachael. At least a dozen other kids, all bully targets, were crowded around the edges of his table and spilling onto nearby seats. Close enough for protection but not close enough for friends. "I heard they barely stopped from expelling him," Becca added.

"Point made, we'll shut up," Daniel said.

"Take it you're finished with that new Greek mythology series you were yappin' about?" Chelsea asked.

"Yeah, all the books written so far. It's pretty accurate too. The series kinda follows the old myths, but it's all in the modern world and almost all the main characters have ADHD or dyslexia or something." Daniel pulled out a book, "I have the first three if you want to borrow them."

"You should do your literature assignment on them," Becca teased. "Oh wait, too late."

"That's due today?" Chelsea dug through her mess of papers. "Damnit I took extra hours at work yesterday." She pulled a blocky thumb-drive from her backpack, "Hope I have it on this."

"Computer room," I glanced at the clock. "You've got time to print it there. Come on."

When we got there Chelsea swore at what came up on the screen. "Well, it'll make a good outline," I encouraged. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, filling out sentences into paragraphs.

"Damnit! I thought this was due next week." She hunched over the computer like her paper was the final level of Mass Effect. The bell rang. Five more minutes to finish her paper and print it and get to English class.

"Here, how 'bout if I take the rest of your stuff to your locker and you finish that up."

"Thanks," she managed breathlessly, like she was running instead of typing.

"Your combination is 19-27-19 right?"

"Yea," she said, eyes on the screen. Her fingers kept flying.

Chelsea's locker was on the other end of the school from the English classroom so she'd be wasting precious minutes running when she could be typing. I hustled through the crowd of students, picked up her English stuff and took a short-cut through the old gym for my locker. We weren't supposed to be in here, so it was an oasis of silence and calm and fresh paint stink.

Almost deserted. One other person slipped into the room: Jackson. And he was covered in blood.

Not 'bathed in the stuff' but there were smears on his sides and it coated half his face like war-paint. His shirt looked mauled by a wood-chipper before he put it back on and half the blue fabric was dyed deep purple. His jeans were nearly as bad. Water mixed with blood, like he'd taken a shower in his clothes.

Or washed away evidence.

Worst of all, he had a baseball bat clutched in one hand. It wasn't a toy. Nails had been driven into the head, turning it into a make-shift mace. A white shard fell from one of the metal spikes and clattered to the gym floor. I couldn't look away. Didn't dare twitch, frozen like a rabbit in the path of a wolf. His back was to me, but his head and eyes were never still. If I moved, he'd spot me. If I stayed still, he'd spot me. The open door. Behind that crevice was my only chance. I stalked cat-like toward my refuge, too silently to hear myself.

Jackson heard. He whirled around before I finished the first step, bat extended and left arm braced to shield his chest. "Who's…oh," his voice softened.

"Um…hi?"

How inane can you get?

Percy Jackson pinned me with stormy eyes. I could hear nothing but the blood rushing in my ears like the roar of ocean waves. Couldn't speak. Couldn't even project my best 'please don't kill me' body language. Then the fierce fighter receded, leaving a tired boy behind. He shifted his stance and lowered his bat, looking wearier than Chelsea after pulling an all-nighter of work and school projects and test prep. The gray streak in his hair stood out starkly. The scars on his face could have been wrinkles. He looked like that 'old lady-young lady' illusion, an old man peering out of a teen's features.

"Sorry about this." From the backpack he pulled out another blue shirt. The color was faded, a food stain blemished the collar and the bottom hem was ratty as my hair. Sterling, compared to the one he wore—which said a lot about his life.

He shucked off the ruined shirt.

I had two thoughts. The second was that Daniel had understated 'knife scars.' The thick, knotted ropes of puckered flesh, pale against darker skin, must have been made by some big ass knives. One scar was longer than my arm. Had someone hacked him with a sword? But my first thought about the armed, bloodied potential gang member: hot damn. Guess smashing unmentionables to bits with a mace really worked out those shoulders. He turned around again. Oh, delinquent boy had abs.

"Just fell off my bike," he finally explained. "Messed up my shirt."

"Right," I managed in a strangled voice. Like hell he'd fallen off his bike, but if a gangster wanted to throw me a line I would swallow it hook, line and sinker to keep my skull whole. "Heh, happens all the time. To me I mean…too."

"Really?" His gaze sharpened. Pretty face he had—unfairly pretty—but that glare made my skin prickle like the sudden chill of approaching thunder.

"Um…well no but it's perfectly understandable."

"Yeah," his face was still dark but the 'oncoming storm' pressure had relaxed. "I won't hurt you." He stepped back and committed sin by covering up that body. His shirt draped over the worst slashes of his jeans until he looked like a normal teen again, then he hauled the backpack over one shoulder and left. My heart started speeding again, and not from lust.

Where had the bat gone?

I stumbled to class on autopilot, startled from my thoughts by Becca's relief. "Oh good, I was worrying."

My laugh was a little shrill, "Right. Chels, I got your stuff." Suddenly my brain re-booted and I dropped to my chair. "Crap and I forgot mine."

Chelsea laughed, "Relax." She opened her lit book between the two of us, "Least I can do is share. Besides, you probably won't need it. Blofis is assigning a new dead white guy."

"Not this time." The English teacher interrupted, "Thanks to your incredibly passionate essay Chelsea, I shall leave 'Hamlet' and 'Romeo and Juliet' to your Sophomore year's Shakespearean unit. Today, we begin 'The Color Purple'."

"Seriously? You got that book approved when they wouldn't let us read all of Canterbury tales?" Chelsea asked.

"What's the Color Purple about?" someone whispered to her.

"Read it an' find out."

"—After that, we will be reading part of Homer's 'The Illiad' for our Ancient Greek section."

Somewhere in the corner, Jackson—somehow without a speck of blood or drop of water on him—groaned.

"Not a fan of Greek mythology?" Rachael teased beside him.

Jackson gave her a look. It's meaning sailed four feet over my head. "I've had enough Greek mythology for one day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I saw an artist's rendition of Son of Hades!Percy who's sword was constantly being mistaken for a spiked bat. Thought it was a cool idea and Riptide in sword form wouldn't be easily mistaken for a drumstick—even with Mist.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your comments and kudos!

"You sure you will be well here?" My Babcia asked. "I don't get off until five."

"I'm good. Thanks. Besides, have you seen the department store prices? Fifty bucks for a shirt. There's also a bookstore just across the street and a gaming store around the block. I'll be bored after a week or so," I reassured.

"As long as you don't suffer that. We have got some new books too, you know."

"And I'm headin' over there once I drop this load off." I hauled up a bag of old clothes that I'd out-grown over the school year and followed Babcia to the thrift store she worked at. "See you later Babciu."

"You as well wnuczka," with a final cheek kiss, she left for the back room.

I had a lot of donations for the local thrift-shop and a few things to browse. One person's trash is another person's treasure and this place could be a treasure trove. Depending on what people gave. So I stopped to scan the book titles, saw the first "Song of the Lioness" series for a dollar and took it off the shelf, only to back up into someone else. A very firm someone else.

"Oh, sorry." I turned around.

It was Jackson. Tanner and older in a shirt that must have survived many battles from all the stitching. The splotch on the chest could have been a symbol at one point but was now an abstract mess of black on orange. The skin beneath his eyes was deeply bruised, and not from a simple punch but his stare was as gem-brilliant as ever. Who has eyes that lagoon color of blue-green. Must be wearing contacts.

"Hi. Sorry, I'll get out of your way," he moved politely to the side.

"What are you doing here?" I asked before I could guard my mouth.

He shuffled a bit and shrugged, "Shopping. The shirts are cheaper here." Well if he kept tearing them apart like that… "Are you donating?"

"Yeah, better than throwing them away. But I'm also shopping, my Bu—er…grandmother says I'm a horrible penny pincher." Not that she's one to talk. "But there's some good stuff here."

"Well thanks, even if these won't fit me. Everyone here appreciates it."

I blushed. Jackson was, despite possible history of fire-bombing and gang activities, stupidly smoking hot. I mean, this is New York so it's not that odd to see people with movie-star looks. But Jackson? Even sleepless and mussed, and dressed in Cinderella-ragged clothes, he could put models to shame. "See you at school," I said lamely.

"Hope so," he said, glancing behind him before heading toward the men's t-shirts. I gave him a second glance because stupidly hot. Wouldn't have noticed anything else, except when I headed for the magazine rack, some woman leapt right over me. I ducked, tangled one foot in a coat-hanger someone trashed on the floor and tumbled into a rack of jeans. She landed with perfect grace. "Hey, watch it." She didn't glance back. "Rude." I kicked off the hanger and grabbed my book but by the time I was on my feet, there was no sign of what's-her-face. Not that I could remember her face. Oh, hey, half-off on DVD's, maybe there was a nugget of gold buried in that cart.

Jackson suddenly stepped around another clothing rack, headed straight for the door again with as much purpose as the woman behind him stalked. The woman who'd leapt right over me. A full-body chill wracked me at the sight of her. Don't know why. You just get that feeling about some people. Percy, completely oblivious, made it to the door and grabbed the handle. That's when she reacted, darting between a pair of guys. Wicked-sharp metal flashed. I was about to shout.

Even over the crowd I could hear the crunch of metal breaking cartilage and bone as Percy slammed the door in her face. People shouted, wincing and cringing in sympathy. The stalker's whole head whipped back with the force of the blow, blood splattering on tile and marred a white 'for sale' sign with drops of red. Yet none of us stepped forward.

Creepy Woman didn't make a sound, just whipped around as if her nose wasn't a blood-swollen blob and lunged again. Percy dodged behind the door. She wedged herself through the gap when he slammed the door, catching her leg with another sickening crack. Unbothered, Creepy brought the knife slashing down. People yelled. Percy dodged. A bright line of red opened down his arm, forcing him to release the door.

He drew his bat from out of nowhere just as another person pounced, catching the second knife on the spiked head and thrusting the bat into the second opponent. Creepy Woman pounced lightning-fast, but if she was lightning, Percy was liquid, dodging knives from three gangsters now and taking the legs out from beneath a fourth. Seizing the opening, he sprinted. The others sprang after him like hounds on the heels of a fox. They vanished behind brick and mortar of the corner wall. Faintly I heard squealing tires, blaring horns and the sound of metal shrieking against concrete.

I should call the police. I turned to the nearest person but she already had her cellphone out. "—an emergency, some kind of gang fight, right outside Charity Cornerstone."

"The hell?"

"—attacked here in the building. They all ran down fifty-third street sir—."

"—assaulted five young women with a crowbar—"

"—escaped at the head of a gang, you need to send out an alert. They're all armed and dangerous—"

"—Zombies. Actual zombies and they were trying to infect this guy…"

The store rang with voices overlapping into cell phones. Emergency services were probably overloaded. My civic duty would only make things worse, so I didn't bother dialing. Still in a numb calm, I stepped closer to the scene of the attack. Blood still dripped from the side of the door and glinted weirdly beneath the thrift shop's lights but strangest of all were the deep gouges in the concrete. What had made those? I didn't remember seeing them before.

Time passed oddly. How long had I stared at the crime scene? Screaming sirens pulled me back to the present and a pair of cars slid to a stop, lights flashing. The crowd was pressed back by first responders. More cars pulled in and soon I couldn't see where the fight began beneath all the uniforms. Probably people were taking samples of blood and hair follicles and stuff. Or maybe not. What did I know about crime scenes?

Some people jumped to volunteer. Others hung back, yet the crowd looked a lot thinner than when I entered. A cold thought crawled into my mind. What if the gangsters or whatever came back? What if they had already killed Percy?

"Excuse me ma'am, were you a witness to this scene?"

I looked up and wondered if I'd been sucked into a television show. There was a crime scene right in front of me and the cop blocking my view definitely belonged on TV. He wore the suit like a runway model and should have played Kingsley Shacklebolt in the movies, except his hair was golden. Odd gray eyes, so dark they looked almost black, made me think of every little thing I'd done wrong in my life.

"Yes," I said softly.

"Come here, let's sit down, I'm sure you've suffered a shock."

"I didn't see much," I told him, "This was just…only saw the beginning of it all. They chased him that way." I pointed to where Percy had fled, the four or five or six attackers behind him. "Do you have people after them? They were armed and…and they were trying to kill him."

"Let's start from the beginning, when did you first notice something odd or wrong?" said the cop.

"The first woman, she leapt right over me like an Olympic gymnast. Only she wasn't paying attention to me. She was stalking him. Percy I mean—"

"Percy Jackson?" The officer interrupted.

"Yes sir, he goes to my school," I confirmed.

"I understand, please continue."

He did understand, probably better than I did struggling to put those stalkers and gangsters into words. Never interrupted or looked with skepticism or disbelief during my awkward explanation. They weren't just people armed with knives. Daniel would have known the right way to say this, or at least write it down, to show how dangerous they were. All I could say was the sight of them gave me the creepiest creeps that ever creeped. But the officer understood. "You have good instincts. Use them." He reached for his phone and spoke, "This was the source of the disruptive incidents. Anything on your end?"

Mostly I overheard garbled nonsense mixed in with abbreviations and code I didn't get but among everything was one word that rang loud and clear:

Blood.

"Percy," I interrupted, "Is he okay?"

"Ah, yes." He stood and gave me a reassuring smile, "Don't worry, your friend has fought worse and lived."

"Ellen, wnuczka, are you hurt?"

I turned around. There she was, glasses hanging awkwardly off her face, sandals padding the tiles like she'd just run from the back room. Babcia.

"Who is this?" the officer asked.

"My Bab—my grandmother. I'm good now." I followed her and sat on the bus bench.

"They said it was gang violence. You are not hurt?" Plump, deft fingers were already looking over me for blood or bruises. "I hoped you wouldn't have to see something like that," she finished.

"Percy. I knew him. Know him. He goes to school with me. And he was being—" hunted, "—chased by that gang."

"Ah, the police will probably catch them then, and your classmate will be well. Don't you worry."

"I told her the same thing," Detective Moviestar said, "Well, you are in good hands and I have another young man to escort home."

"There. See? He will be safe."

How many times had Percy gotten into fights? Many, for a police officer to know him by name. Had the others attacked out of revenge? Maybe the cheerleader, or whoever he had fought before heading to the old gym thirsted for vengeance?

"Did you want to say something?"

Would I see him at school again?

"Babcia? Don't you still have work?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Figured with all the monster attacks Percy would be going through clothes like crazy and he'd need the cheapest shirts he could buy.


	5. Chapter 5

New school year brought new school supplies, new shirts to replace out-grown donations and new projects. "Now for the next nine weeks we are going to have a partnered project," Ms. Shirley announced, "So you have someone to help you explore the Odyssey—"

Groans mingled with sighs of relief. I glanced at Becca and Chelsea and Daniel. Four people. Partnered project. Perfect.

"—which I will assign," she finished. Everyone groaned now and Ms. Shirley began rattling them out.

"Oh great," whispered Chelsea beside me, "She's assigning us the lazy ones."

"Stop that, I have dyslexia too." Becca pointed out, "Not as badly as some but enough to hate English b's and d's, and the numbers two and five."

"Sorry, I didn't think. Anyway the only learning disorder Johnson has is the lack of blood in his brains."

"Ellen Skz—" she paused and tried again, "Ellen Szku—"

"Szczepanski," I corrected tiredly.

"Ellen," She said, "With Percy Jackson."

Chelsea patted my shoulder sympathetically—though she had this 'told you so' look on her face—as I cursed. Despite Becca's stalwart defense of the dyslexic, I resigned myself to carrying three-quarters of the work-load. Stupid teachers and their stupid assigned pairings. Sure, it made their jobs easier to put good students with poor students but putting more of the work-load on people like me is seriously frustrating. I could either do the whole project by myself or struggle to help Percy get his half of it done. The first option would be easier. If I was lucky, working twice as hard would get me a grade half as good as normal.

Also, Percy Jackson, bully-beater, gangster, crocodile wrestler—the rumor mill was certain on one of the three—was consistent on two things: leaving early and coming in late.

Great.

"You are doing your half of the work," I warned him.

Jackson smiled that stupid, crooked smile that made anyone forget possible gang ties. Or just not care. "Not a problem. I know the Odyssey like I lived it."

"Sure you do." Now who's house were we going to meet up at? Did I want to head over to his house—if he had one and didn't live in a warehouse with the rest of his gang like rumor said—or subject my family to him. Or him to my family.

"Would you like to come over to my place to start?"

"How far is it?" I hedged.

"Not far and Mr. Blofis can give us a lift."

I considered that. Mr. Blofis was a teacher I respected and if he was going to be there… "Sounds good. I just need to text my parents." After sending, I frowned at him, "Aren't you going to contact your mom?"

He jerked and then, too wide-eyed, too-innocently, asked, "How?"

I gave him a 'not buying it' look. "Your cell phone?"

"Oh," he looked relieved, "Ah actually I don't have one." He hunched his shoulders sheepishly, "I know it's a little weird but for the longest time my mom could barely afford a land-line and we've managed to do without now. Why waste the money." His expression grew darker. Probably worried about getting into college.

"That's fine. You're pretty good at swimming." That's an understatement. The guy was half-dolphin or something. "You could get an athletic scholarship. Some of them are full-rides."

Percy blinked at me, but this didn't cheer him up. I wanted to ask, but didn't feel comfortable enough to pry. He lightened up again. "That's okay," he laughed. "Besides, it would be cheating for me to get a swimming scholarship."

Before I could ask how the hell a person cheats at swimming, the bell rang. He stood up, "Meet me at Paul's car…err, Mr. Blofis." He was smiling more warmly, but it was still crooked and looked like trouble.

I had second thoughts.

"…and w—they left him beaten there, trapped on his island, tricked and robbed and blinded in his single eye. He raised his voice, calling to the seas, to his father. Poseidon! Grant me my revenge!" Percy Jackson's eyes had never looked more like the ocean. I could almost hear the roar of the waves. His voice dropped. "And they seas obeyed."

I blinked out of my half-trance and finished copying it down on my tablet. "Wow! It is like you lived the Odyssey," I said eagerly. "You should just tell the whole thing as a story. We'll ace this."

"Tell the story, he should teach it," Paul said from the driver's seat. "Ms. Shirley could take the day off."

Percy shrugged, but looked at the clutter and crumbs on the car floor. I swear that guy had a few wires crossed in his head; every compliment only made him more depressed. "Yeah, I suppose it does. Are you sure you don't want me to write?"

"I've got it, besides with you as a mythological encyclopedia, I won't have to do any research. Chelsea's gonna eat her heart out." I took back every bad thought I had about him. "So how do you spell that Cyclops's name. It is a cyclops right?"

"Yes. Polyphemus. P-O-L-Y-P-H-E-M-U-S."

"Don't see how you keep that straight in your mind. Half these ancient Greek names start with a P: Polyphemus, Polybites or whatever, Perceus," I paused. Huh, hadn't realized his name was actually Greek. Made sense, considering.

"Last stop, everyone out," Mr. Blofis called. I packed up my tablet and followed Percy up to his apartment. A fairly nice place too, not at all the run-down, crime-ridden hovel of whispers. He smiled, "A lot of people would be frustrated getting stuck with the dyslexic kid." I ducked my head, had he overheard us?

"Meh, as long as you can do your half of it I don't care. And you've done more than that. Seriously how do you know so much about Greek Mythology?"

Percy laughed, "If you think I know a lot you should hear Annabeth. She could quote you the Odyssey, the Illiad and write a paper that would make a college professor cry."

"Hmm, then maybe I do have the wrong partner. She your girlfriend?"

He blushed hard, "No, no, nothing like that. Just a friend."

"Uh huh." Totally girlfriend but I'd let it drop. Percy Jackson was leaps and bounds better of a partner than I'd feared so there was no reason to rock the boat, especially with the way he could tell a story.

Sally Jackson greeted us at the door, sweet as honey, "Come on in, come on in, I'm Sally."

"Nice to meet you…Sally, I'm Ellen, Percy's partner for the next nine weeks."

"Oh?"

"School project," Percy explained, "On the Odyssey," he added with an expression I couldn't decipher.

Sally looked like her son had shared some inside-joke. Probably about the books. "Well, you'll have no problem with that then," she lead us toward the living-room. "Do you need a snack?"

"Desperately," Percy said. After I took a chip and dipped it in her seven-layer bean and guacamole dip, I could taste the reason for his enthusiasm. And I didn't like bean dip or guacamole.

"Delicious." I took the dip off her hands. "You should run a restaurant," I suggested, grabbing another chip. "You would get rich off the dip alone."

"Thank you Ellen but I couldn't. Cooking for friends and family is wonderful but my true passion is writing."

"Of course." I swallowed my daily amount of vegetables. "Got anything published."

"Actually I have. Though I hope it wouldn't be a topic you're experienced in." She pulled down the book from a shelf and held it out. "The Big Bad Wolf: A Survivor's Guide." The cover had the sort of werewolf from the old B-movies, looking more like a hairy guy with really ugly teeth bared. He wore a white tank top while looming over a feminine figure, one fist raised. I flipped over onto the back and read the synopsis. Oh. A book for battered women. I looked at Sally and Percy with new eyes. For a moment I couldn't speak as my imagination churned. "It sounds…like a really well-written book." I licked my lips, "Anything else?"

"Not yet but I just finished that one," Sally said, standing strong and proud like the figure on the cover. "Are you going to stay for dinner?"

Normally I wouldn't. Normally I needed to get home but tonight my shrew of a cousin and his disgusting uncle would be dropping by so I palmed my cell phone and stood up. "I'll ask."

I've eaten worst dinner in chef-praised restaurants. Percy and his mother took turns telling stories with Mr. Blofis. Weird as it was to be eating with one of my teachers, it was even weirder to hear him complaining about grading papers as bad as any of my friends had grumbled about doing homework.

"You know, if you didn't assign us so much homework, you wouldn't have to do so much grading," I pointed out.

"If only," he sighed. "I would love to cut back on the tests and have only one a year but the grade scale is the great scale we are all judged upon: student and teacher alike."

"I've already told him that," Percy whispered, "It's the cruel, cruel administration." He finished and began collecting dishes into the sink.

"Here, I'll help you. It's the least I could do."

"That's okay, it's my chore and I'll get it done faster. You can set up in the living room on the couch. The chair is mom's writing chair." When I hesitated, he added. "Don't worry, you can write faster and I can scrub dishes faster." I relented. Hey, if he wanted to spend half an hour scouring bits of uneaten food off plates, I was happy to get our power-point started and pick all the cool backgrounds and pictures.

Not a minute later, I looked up as the couch rocked. Percy was completely dry and ready to help with the presentation.

"You can't be doing that right. Dishes aren't properly washed unless it takes half an hour and you're half drenched," I said.

"Water likes me."

Yeah right. With how quickly he always dried off, water must hate him. "Uh huh, well we're off to a good start but we can't just re-state everything Homer wrote."

Percy Jackson agreed and our partnership began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wanted Ellen to get to know Percy better and look a little deeper into Percy's life without being a full-on creepy stalker. What better way than an ironic school project. Hope everyone enjoys!


	6. Chapter 6

"Is something wrong? We were supposed to meet an hour ago." Percy asked as he sauntered up my driveway.

I put down the bucket, wiped my soapy hand off with one wet rag and glanced at my phone. "Damnit, I didn't realize it was so late. Sorry Percy," I motioned to the family car. Someone had helpfully fingered 'wash me' in dust. Several times. "I drew the short straw. It'll be a little while but I'll make it. Or we can re-schedule. But you owe me at least one late arrival." And texting him hadn't been an option.

"It's fine. Here, I'll help." He grabbed one of the rags.

"You don't have to…"

"Washing the car is my chore and four hands are better than two," Percy grabbed the bucket and headed for the other side, "I'll do the outside if you can get the insides of the windows cleaned."

"Sure," I picked up the cleaner and wrung out my rag before crawling into the driver's seat. We got to work.

By the time we called it done, my cloth was black with who knew what kind of gunk and I had picked three wads of bubble-gum off my jeans. Disgusting little siblings. Wriggling out the door, I gaped at the gloss unveiled beneath all the grime. The beige glittered like gold beneath the sun and even the tires looked new. "Damn you work fast." I told Percy, "And good. You should do charity car washes or something." He'd rake in the money, and not just because he could wash and wax like a pro. A new year had given the puberty gods more time to work their artistic wonders and Percy Jackson had bulked up even more from whatever got him on a first name basis with the police.

"Thanks," he moved some hair out of his face. A drop of soapy water fell from a strand into one eye.

A strange film, like the clear eyelid of a sea creature, swept it away.

Did I just see that? His expression suddenly mirrored how I felt, falling into confusion. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I croaked, "Something in my eye." Did not just see that. Maybe I need a new prescription. "So…you wanna come inside?"

"Ah," he ducked his head sheepishly, "Actually I left all my stuff back over at my apartment. Sorry. I can run and get it," he turned away.

"That's fine." Maybe it was my imagination. "Is your copy of the presentation back at your house too?"

"Yeah."

"Alright then, let's go. It's not too far to walk on a nice day." Percy nodded and slipped his hand in his right pocket. As we cut through an alley I asked, "Why do you have a dozen copies of our report anyway?"

"Not a dozen. Just one on a thumb-drive for me and a paper copy." He frowned, "You wouldn't believe what I had to go through just to get the electronic one back."

"Why? Did it get stolen?"

"Actually, yeah."

"Really?" He wasn't the battle-scarred thug I'd thought in my worst moments but I was more surprised that he was the victim.

"I got it back."

Did you mug someone to get it back? But I didn't ask that. We'd been working together long enough for me to get that some things you didn't ask Percy Jackson. Like he had a whole other life going on and I didn't need to know.

"We'll have to work in my room though. Mom and Paul have taken over the living room between them and the kitchen is a bit…" he wriggled a hand, "Messy."

"Did you try cooking?"

"Ha, ha. I can boil water. And grill salad."

The mysteries of Percy's bedroom were not that much different from anyone's. Mount dirty clothes erupted from a laundry basket. Blankets drooped off the bed in a hump. A sea-shell collection took over his nightstand, surrounding a crown jewel of a conch shell. A tank sat beside the window where a couple of blue-striped fish switched between enjoying the room and staring out the window. The whole thing was very…blue. Blue walls, blue carpet, blue bed-spread over blue sheets, even the furniture had been painted blue by some very inexpert brushes. An orange shirt stood out against the blue dresser it was trying to escape from. Tucked in the corner was something bronze.

"Woah, is that a shield?" I stepped over a couple canoe paddles to get a better look.

He quickly stepped in front of me, "Actually it's cardboard and…I broke it so please don't touch."

"Gotcha?" it did look a little wrecked, like a younger Percy had acted out one too many games of dungeons and dragons or something. "A pity, it looks very well made. I guess you're kinda big into the Greek mythology stuff huh?"

He smirked again, but the scars on his face and the gray lock of hair stood out. "Up to my eyeballs," he promised.

"O-kay. So would it be too much to dress up for this?" I asked. "We could fix your cardboard shield for the presentation."

Percy laughed, "I would make a horrible Odysseus," he said. "That's Annabeth's thing."

Imagining myself in a costume in front of a packed class, I agreed with him. "Never-mind. Togas would be a little too much in front of the whole class. Just…don't miss presentation day, okay. I don't care if you're puking up your lungs. You're going to be there."

"Got it," he said.

We finished the last touches of our shared presentation and Percy saved it on his thumb drive and printed a hard copy because he was that paranoid.

"One other thing I gotta ask. I've been meaning to but it's a little weird."

"What?" he asked warily.

"Have you heard of the Percy Jackson and the Olympian series?" His face turned all kinds of interesting shades and made even more interesting expressions. I took that as a yes.

"So is 'Rick Riodan' actually a pen name for your mom…or your mom and Mr. Blofis?"

"What?"

"Well you and the character share the exact same name and description," and don't tell me that's a coincidence. I don't care how popular or common the name 'Percy Jackson' is. "Some people—" Such as my friends and I, "—Thought the son Riordan said their books were based on was actually you and your mom was the one—"

"No. Oh Gods no." He shook his head like he was trying to clear it from some truly awful thoughts. "Mom wouldn't embarrass me so badly. And Paul wouldn't write totally fictional stuff like that. Because he's not into fiction. At all."

Percy sounded a little shaky but I let it slide. Being the real-life star of a fantasy series might sound cool but the teasing possibilities… "Sorry I had to ask. It was Daniel's pet theory."

"Does everyone really discuss those stories?"

"From how Daniel complains, you'd think no one else ever heard of them. They're not Harry Potter popular books. On my list of things to read, if only to shut Daniel up, but I haven't had much time…"

"Which is totally understandable. You don't have to read them," Percy said quickly.

"They are about you." It was not a question.

Percy smirked, "So you believe the gods are real? That Kronos is actually rising from hell to take over the world?"

"Ha, ha," I said blandly, and was almost comfortable enough to shove him for being a tease, "Don't be ridiculous, but you can't tell me there isn't a connection somewhere."

"Actually I can."

"Then you would be lying," I said. He glowered. "Okay, okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. Guess it's just as well everyone's not reading that series because otherwise your life would be a nightmare."

"I wonder what it would be like to have a nightmarish life," Percy said sarcastically.

"Everyone would be teasing you about Aquaman powers. You would never, ever, grow out of that joke." Though, given the theme of his room, he might not mind.

"Wow, that does sound horrible."

"You can mute the sarcasm anytime." A doorbell interrupted us and Percy's face tensed. "Expecting some company?" I asked.

"Yeah, but we were supposed to be done with our meeting by now. Excuse me." He backed out. A moment later I followed him to find him deep in conversation with three strangers. A boy larger than Chelsea's father, though he couldn't have been more than two years older than us, held a toolbox in one beefy hand. A blond whose stare could have fried my brain held a map rolled up in one hand. Behind the other two lingered a goth boy who probably found souls crunchy and good with ketchup.

Woah. Maybe there was more to those gang tie rumors than I had thought. "Hi."

They all stared at me with different expressions of 'what is she doing here'. Brain frying blondie looked particularly displeased. Percy answered their unvoiced question. "She's here for a school project."

"The one you're supposed to be done with now?" Blondie asked warningly.

He glanced between me and his friends, frowning and solemn. "We need to reschedule our practice. Please." He nodded to the strange group. "This is…very important."

As long as it wasn't very illegal. I sighed, "Just don't do this to me on presentation day."

"Deal."

He politely but quickly bid me goodbye and I was eager to get out. A thick spider-web of tension ensnared the house. Even his parents had fallen silent in the living room. I shut the door and shouldered my backpack, trying not to listen to whatever they were meeting about.

"…Kros…maneuvering reinforcements…using…labyr…"

And failing.


	7. Chapter 7

Presentation day arrived; our power-point was finished and practiced; I came to school heart hammering. We were ready to go but I had eyes only for Percy Jackson. Who was nowhere to be found. Not on the bus, not with Mr. Blofis, not anywhere in our first period computer class—where he always got nervous for some reason. Now it was lunchtime and Dare was sitting alone.

Where was Percy?

Becca stopped my owl imitation. "Calm down Ellen, he's probably just running late or his stomach is upset. He skips computer class every other day."

"I don't care," I said. "I told him he could be coughing up his lungs as long as I don't have to stand in front of the entire class alone." Damn him. Of all days to have a family emergency its today. And how can he have so many 'family emergencies?' I was at his house and nothing ever went wrong. What kind of fucked up family does he have?

"Has anyone seen Daniel?" Becca looked around.

He'd better be there. I don't care if he skips ten days of school before and gets suspended after but his ass had better not skip fifth period.

"He texted, said he was running a little late. And this is why I hate these partnered things. Bet you all the money in your wallet he's skipping on you," Chelsea said.

A couple months ago I would have agreed with her. My angry side wanted to agree, but that didn't sound like Percy Jackson. He'd done his part fair and square. With how much he knew about the Odyssey, I was the one skimping out, not him. He'd even included little factoids of Greek history and battle and myth I hadn't remembered hearing or seeing anywhere. He'd been more than polite too. Bringing snacks over whenever he went to my house, offering to finish up the dishes while I set up the computer—and cleaning them in record time too. If he occasionally grew quiet or came over a little tired, he never took it out on me. Kind, if snarky.

I shook my head and glanced around. The door banged open and my heart leapt. Then it fell when the dark youth was only Daniel. "Sorry I'm late guys. Hey Ellen, did you ever ask if Sally Jackson wrote the Percy Jackson series? Or did she work with Mr. Blofis on it? I know Rick Riordan is a male name but it wouldn't be the first time…"

"Okay enough with that nonsense," Chelsea said. "I don't think she wants to talk about that guy right now."

"He denied it," I said.

"Well of course he denied it, the series has lots of personal stuff in it. If any of that was real I'd deny it too. Did he give another explanation? Don't tell me he said it was a coincidence."

"No." I picked at my food with a queasy stomach. "He said he was up to his nose in Greek stuff."

"Not as much as the Percy Jackson of the books. You really should read the series," Daniel offered me one of the books. The kid looked like Percy…well, as much as I could tell since he was facing away.

"I don't feel like it," I pushed the book and my lunch away.

"Stop your spoiled-ass whining. Half the class falls asleep from lectures and no one laughs at them. Worse things can happen."

"Thanks." But I pulled my food back, occasionally searching the cafeteria. Maybe Mr. Blofis knew where he was but for once our English teacher wasn't eating with the others or patrolling the room. "So help me he'd better be in the hospital or I'll put him there."

Lunch flew by. Time, which always crawled through gym class, took a red bull on the worst day possible. Every time I looked at the clock, its hands jumped twenty minutes too far. Had he come in? We didn't share gym. He could have returned to school late. Because his bike broke and he had to walk. The stupid guy didn't even have a cell-phone to call me. Why, out of all the partners, did I get the one allergic to modern technology?

The bell rang. I bolted for the English room, thumb-drive in hand, hoping some deity out there would answer my prayers and he would be waiting in the classroom with apologies for making me worry. I'd forgive him if only the bastard showed up at the last minute.

Becca, David and Chelsea all took their seats. Loads of other students crowded in the room. Every desk was packed. Everyone decided to be present and accounted for except the one idiot I needed most.

Damn Percy Jackson, I was going to strangle him!

I checked the door, checked the clock, palms sweating, stomach turning to jello. The second bell rang. Nothing. Maybe he would burst through the door any second. Maybe I wouldn't be first one presenting. Maybe our presentation would get postponed another day because of an absent partner. Maybe—"

"Ellen Scz…Ellen and Percy Jackson," our soulless demon of a teacher announced.

I stood up. No one else did. Damn I was going to be Percy Jackson's worst nightmare whenever he got back. That was the last thing I thought before walking to the front of the room, thumb-drive in hand.

By The Written Laws of the Universe, Authored by Murphy, Percy showed up just as I staggered back to my desk, presentation done. He looked as battered and wrung out as I felt. That did not endear mercy. As he took his seat I gave him a smile bright as a shark's. "Hello Percy." I spoke through my teeth.

"Ellen I am…"

"You. Weren't. Here," I said, more bitter than angry, more venom than fire now.

"The grade…"

"I don't care. You weren't here," words hissed between my teeth, "I was up there by myself and in case you forgot, I get horrible stage fright." An understatement, I couldn't remember a damn thing I'd said in front of the class.

He glanced at the paper, then took it to the teacher after the next group was done, asking for a word. The normally rowdy class turned dead silent in that odd way twenty or so students can when everyone randomly shuts up. Every whisper rang more loudly than any presentation.

"I skipped on the presentation. And all of school. I was supposed to do most of it and I didn't. I didn't do my part at all but Ellen shouldn't have to suffer any more for that."

"I see," the teacher said simply. "Did you do any of the assigned work?"

"Only a little research. She read both books and did the typing," Percy said. Generously, my conscience added.

The teacher gave Percy a stern look, "You realize I will have to fail you for this. Thirty percent of your grade depended on this presentation."

"I understand ma'am."

"You realize that failing this assignment means you will have to get the very best grades to pass this class at all," she said.

"Yes ma'am."

Ms. Shirley considered Percy very carefully, like he was some extinct species of student come back to life. "Stop by my class afterwards and we will discuss the appropriate disciplinary action for your absence." With that she scribbled something on the paper and handed it back. "Give that to Ellen."

She'd scratched out the first grade and given me a B+.

It was only what he should have done. He abandoned me. People don't get cookies for doing what decent people ought to do. Whatever he did after the fact didn't calm my blinding stage fright, whipped into a frenzy from being abandoned by the one person assigned to me.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Percy said, and looked like he meant it.

After a moment of struggling between silence, politeness and the truth, I said, "Whatever." It didn't make up for being abandoned in the biggest presentation of the year. I tucked the paper in a folder. But he had done more work than he admitted to. And he really did look awful. His hoodie clung to his shoulders by threads. I tried to steel my jelly spine and walked up to him. "Thanks for doing that, for my grade."

"It was the one you earned," Percy said.

"But you still should have been there." The bell rang. Thank goodness school was almost over because I really needed to relax. With some chocolate.

"Huh? Why's he got a pipe?" someone said. I looked up from the fascinating tile floor and around at the crowd that had escaped my notice but couldn't see any pipe in anyone's hands.

"That's not—" Chelsea said.

The shot split the air so harshly I felt the impact. The wave of noise detonated like a bomb and everyone jerked as though the bullet hit them, except Jordan or George or somebody. I'd never paid attention. And he wasn't holding a pipe.

"See," Daniel said over the screams and cries, black-humored, "It wasn't me."

Caged by the crowd, I couldn't run. After the first step I slammed into someone. Another student hit me. Then, somehow, Mr. Blofis stepped through the press of people and stood in front of them, hands spread like he could shield everyone. "Gregory—."

Gregory raised his gun. One meaty finger jerked the trigger. I was sure our English teacher was dead. Dead because he'd tried to defend students from bullies one too many times.

Percy moved so fast.

He was there, though I hadn't seen him when the first shot rang out, and his bat was shielding Mr. Blofis. As everyone's ears trembled from the wave of sound, I saw the bullet squashed flat on the wood.

No, that wasn't right. Wood couldn't block bullets. Just as I thought that, the bat's ash texture shifted to a metallic color, like bronze but glowing faintly. The bullet was pancaked against the strange metal. What the fuck? Mr. Blofis looked down at the glowing, golden bat that had saved his life, face the color of cold gravy. That bullet had been blocked right at throat height. Blocked. How the hell does someone block a bullet?

Greg might have tried to squeeze the trigger again, but Percy leapt inhumanly fast from behind Mr. Blofis and swung his bronze bat in a full arc before the shooter could finish. The gun fell in two pieces, sliced neatly as if from a razor. Before my eyes, the weapon in Percy's hand suddenly gained sharp edges.

What was wrong with my eyes? How had I mistaken that as a baseball bat?

People were screaming and crying, Becca pulled out her cellphone along with a hundred other people. Suddenly sirens were blaring everywhere and blue uniforms were shoving through the crowd. By the time they cuffed him, Greg was bawling like he'd gotten shot, half a gun still clutched in his hand. The police were questioning and Mr. Blofis was babbling in disbelief.

"Blocked it. Blocked the bullet. It would have…killed me. But that's impossible. He's impossible."

For a second I swore Percy had been holding a bronze sword in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Given the rise of school shootings, I decided to throw in a completely mortal problem at our resident demigod.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all again for all your kudos and comments. This has more of a Halloween vibe but I'm not gonna wait that long to post!

The radio of my new used car re-hashed the strange eruption of Mt. St. Helens, this time to explain the warped weather we'd been experiencing. "…and headed straight for the New York/Manhattan area. All residents are encouraged to take shelter immediately..." which was what I and everyone else was trying to do, resulting in a traffic jam of the century.

I was hammering my horn with my fist, a coffee in the other hand as the storm grew louder. What the fuck was with all the freakiness this year? The weather. The shooting at Goode High—attempted shooting anyway—Percy Jackson—

A blaring noise cut through the darkness. I blinked awake and raised my head up. The horn stopped. My car smelled like a café. Coffee dripped off my steering wheel and soaked into my pants, the seat and the flooring below. What the hell? I picked up the coffee, hitting my head against the steering wheel as I sat up. Still fuzzy from sleep, pain didn't quite register. The radio was still playing but they weren't going on about the eruption.

"—blackout all around the Manhattan area with the Empire State Building in the epicenter of the problem. Traffic is already being re-routed. If you are near the Empire State area turn around now. Dangerous weather systems have been reported in the area."

Outside the dashboard darkness had fallen. My phone said 4:47 but the sky was black as midnight. Lightning flashed, an intense bolt so close every cell in my body convulsed with energy. Ozone burned the air. Briefly, there was light. Briefly, it illuminated a scene straight out of 300. Then I blinked spots out of my eyes as they slowly adjusted to the darkness. Flashes of bronze fluttered between cars. Some kind of cosplay battle? A renaissance faire? What the hell were those idiots doing holding it in the middle of a blackout traffic storm?

Someone crashed against my car. I ducked. One Spartan warrior-type leapt over a van and landed as the first rose. Swords clashed. It all happened too fast. The first warrior's blade flew from small hands and hit my car, razor edges gleaming wickedly inches from my hair. I said nothing, frozen as ice. The second warrior thrust her blade in a crevice between the other's armor. Her enemy fell limply. Pressing a metallic boot on the other's chest, the second warrior tugged her sword free.

The weapon was covered in dark liquid.

I thought I had known fear when I stood up against my class, abandoned by my partner, alone. I thought I felt fear the day that gang attacked Percy Jackson. I thought I'd been afraid during the school shooting, when the gun had gone off.

I knew nothing. 

Blood poured from the corpse. With the helmet rolled to the side beneath car headlights, I could see her clearly. Just a girl, not old enough to wear a bra, dressed in armor from five-thousand years ago.

The other fighter approached, and I cowered further into the seat, but she only yanked the sword from my car and left, heading toward the screams and curses behind me. As my eyes adjusted further, I could see bodies. Many limp bodies. And more fighting. Hundreds.

The earth trembled.

I've been through earthquakes. Feels like a herd of rhinos charging down the streets. Or elephants. This? Earth roiled like the ocean. Gaping gashes rent asphalt like cracks through an egg. I clung to the seat of my car. The nearest jagged canyon swallowed the dead body of the little girl. My bowels turned to liquid thinking I was next. Instead, toward the center of the quake, beneath all that concrete and asphalt, the earth itself bulged.

Like it was hatching.

I should've kept my eyes down. Looked away. Gone back to sleep (if this wasn't a dream). Then fear to me would have only been an armored woman approaching me with a bloody sword. But like a train-wreck I couldn't look away.

Asphalt crackled and shattered, falling into a depthless pit. Darkness flowed like liquid into the world and the lingering summer heat died beneath bone-biting cold. A horn keened like blizzard winds ripping through icy cliffs. Something blacker than the night's blackness rose into the world, blacker than a nightmare, carved with artwork Stephen King would have clawed his eyes out to look at, drawn by creatures which shouldn't exist. It was a tank of ancient times, lit by ghastly green fires. Except tanks were familiar things, human things, and this monstrosity was not.

It was pulled by demons. Creatures that did not exist now or ever, not in the bitterest ice age or blackest depths of the ocean. Four of them, worse than the four horses of the apocalypse. Beasts like no horror writer could have ever dreamed up, shifting to more and more terrifying forms. Impressions of fangs and armor and horns and hell-burning eyes passed through my eyes but nothing concrete. Darkness hid the worst. If it hadn't, I'd have gone insane.

What commanded them was worse.

Descriptions of the Devil speak of a man-shaped creature with bat wings and goat horns. A monstrous, fanged face and cloven hooves and hellish eyes. The Grim Reaper of story is all skeleton armed with a scythe sharp enough to cut reality.

I wish that was true. Every organ in my body turned liquid with terror. My fear circled to new heights, coming back around as something more, something worse. Physical terror drew me in like a black hole sucking in light. I couldn't look away.

The next moment was white-blank. I don't remember tearing out of my car like a wild animal. I'd been too afraid to scream, too afraid to freeze, my fear so powerful that it suppressed all those reactions with intense, heart-stopping numbness. My mind was gone. Instinct remained. Ancient nature from the time my ancestors were but mice among giants.

Those instincts saved my life.

I dove beneath a truck and shot out the other side. Something crashed behind me. No looking back. A motorcycle blocked my way, the rider throwing his leg over one side to flee. I leapt right over both, clearing the lane and sprinting down the sidewalk. Wet concrete was cluttered with fallen bodies—some starting to rise—crevices and rubbish. I should have twisted an ankle in three steps but fear and adrenaline gave me Olympian agility and speed.

I leapt aside. A pillar of ice smashed into the concrete where I'd been. Even then, I didn't scream but my terror-stricken heart skipped a few beats. A dark-haired, bronze-clad warrior, inhumanly quick, thrust his sword into the pillar, shattering it. More concrete-crushing footsteps rang from behind, I ran faster. Everywhere people got with the program. I stumbled over another person trying to jump from where she lay. My foot collided with her side, I jerked, I flipped in midair and hit the ground running. Out of here. Leave. Leave. Leave.

The packed townhouses and businesses turned to shore-line before I slowed. The worst of the fear bled out of me in a shaking rush that left me hands and knees in the wet sand. My heart trembled, I was hyper-aware of my quivering pulse and my jaw and eyes burned.

Thunder roared. I flinched with each terrible clap. Lightning flashed so close I could feel the strike through my teeth. It all looked like a storm from here. Just a wild, crazy storm.

Just a storm. Just a dream.

"—Clash between two rival gangs in the downtown Manhattan area. Scattered reports on fatalities estimate at least fifty, mostly teenagers. Astonishingly, the worst damage ringed the city's most famous skyscraper, the empire state building is unharmed and open to visitors as soon as the police investigation is over. Meanwhile the mysterious weather systems seemed to have disappeared virtually overnight—"

I hit the snooze button with shaking fingers and closed my eyes. Didn't help. The night had passed in a half-awake haze, struggling against recent memories to snatch a few precious hours of sleep. Two fighting rival gangs sounded sensible.

But I hadn't heard bullets.

No one could drive through the worst of the destruction but even from the photos it looked like a natural disaster had raped a war zone. Great, gaping cracks wounded the ground like an earthquake had hit, cars smashed and overturned and flooding. God I hoped mine wasn't among them. I remembered the earthquake like the ground still convulsed. Worst one ever. Turning the earth liquid and my car into a boat in the middle of the sea's fury. Everything beyond that was a muddle of darkness and horror and…

A car horn blared. I jerked my nails away from my face and looked up. Becca waited in her car for me because mine was still MIA. "Ellen?" She asked with concern.

"I'm fine." Just don't think about it.

"Look in the mirror."

I flipped down the visor and stared at the mirror. Even with makeup covering the worst I looked like a Walking Dead extra. Dark pink fingernail indentions decorated the darker bags beneath my eyes.

"Were you down there?" Becca asked carefully.

I snapped my attention away from the mirror. This part of the city was mostly untouched, it only looked like a bad storm had passed through. Someone grumbled about their lost cell phone. If I kept looking at the asphalt, I could see where the darkness bled through. "…yes," I said.

"…what was it like?" she asked at last.

In the warmth and light of day with my best friend the whole 'devil' idea seemed silly. A mushroom and LSD-induced hallucination of epic proportions—or a sleep and fear addled one—but I couldn't stop sweat from slicking my palms. Instead of morning traffic surrounding me, I saw the dead body swallowed by the earth; a pillar of ice dropping from the sky. Just a nightmare. Just a storm. Just a dream. Becca's car still felt too cold. That night was a nightmare I could never forget.

"Nevermind," she said. "Do you want to stop somewhere and—"

"You're lucky," I rasped. Though I was jealous her eyes hadn't been burned by what I couldn't unsee, I was still glad she hadn't been there. "Just...don't talk about it."

"Sorry. There's a coffee shop and they've got a new butterbeer flavor."

Seeing That Thing had done something to me. Much as I tried to forget, tried to think 'it's only a storm, only a dream' that rising Devil wouldn't leave me be. But Becca hadn't seen anything. She hadn't seen that.

Lucky she wasn't there.


	9. Chapter 9

The next time I saw Percy, the sight of him hauling a backpack casually was overwhelmed with a memory of him on the battlefield, drenched in blood. He passed. I broke out in full-body goose-bumps and my stomach clenched with cold. But he hadn't been there…had he?

"Just ask him." Chelsea told me the next day, "Not like it's weird. Hell, Nuan hasn't been able to shut her mouth about the giant fire bomb that went up out there."

Yeah, I should just ask him. Better than balancing on a tight-wire between disbelief and insanity, between nightmare and reality. Logic said what I'd seen was impossible. All the fantastic things people talked about were gangsters exaggerated by the wild weather. A street sign could be turned into a monster. But I couldn't forget the visceral terror of—that. Like no fear felt before. Dare I ask Percy Jackson if he'd stabbed that ice-giant?

What if he said yes?

"You know what I think?" Daniel sat down at our table gleefully.

"Yes," said Becca.

"Enough already," Chelsea rolled her eyes.

"I think it was—Clash of the Titans!" He held his hands out like a cliché director.

I poked at my tray. Staring at the vomit-colored smudge masquerading as mashed potatoes might stop The Thing looming in my mind. A titan. Or a demon.

Or…

"—Aquaman," Chelsea hummed a song. I blinked and jerked my head up and I could hear the cafeteria again.

"That's the Superman theme song," Becca said.

"Well Aquaman doesn't have a theme song because he's a lame fish-whisperer. Anyway Danny, you need to get your nose out from between those books and get a reality check."

"Fine. I get it. But it's weird guys," Daniel continued. "Percy Jackson in the books. Percy Jackson here. Both have black hair and sea green eyes—"

"Have you stared longingly into them?" Becca teased.

Daniel groaned, "And both the main character and our Percy Jackson have been expelled from a dozen schools. And now there's all this freaky stuff people are talking about that the books explain." He trailed off from the naked disbelief on Chelsea and Becca's faces. I pushed my tray away. "You gotta admit that's long odds for a coincidence."

"Better odds than Greek myth being reality," Chelsea said and stood up. "It was dark. It was stormy. There was an earthquake. All that could make monsters out of molehills." The bell must have rung because everyone was standing up. I stumbled to my feet, cafeteria food untouched. It wasn't normally that bad but today even the chocolate pudding was like cat vomit to my stomach.

"Ellen? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I croaked.

"You forgot to pack your lunch."

I shrugged, "In a hurry." Which wasn't exactly the truth. I'd had plenty of time to fix a bag lunch but spent it vegging in front of the television since ass-crack o'clock. Becca held out a bag of celery toward me. "Want some?"

I took a bite and my stomach didn't rebel. "Thanks."

"You really should ask Percy about what happened. What's the worst he could say?"

That it was real. The celery balled up in my mouth but I stubbornly chewed anyway. We caught up to Daniel and Chelsea in the hall.

"—look, it's been a fun chat but that resume isn't going to send itself."

I pulled myself back into the conversation. "What happened to your other job?"

Chelsea scowled. "Gone. It's like someone dropped an Acme Anvil on the place. Flat as a pancake. A crap place but it was better than nothing," she stopped at her locker and waved us on, "Later."

"Good luck," we chorused as she split.

"Re-building everything around there will cost a fortune but hopefully she'll find a better job than a fast food joint." Daniel nodded in agreement. She patted his shoulder, "No offense to your ideas but I'm fine living in a monster-free world." Her smile slipped a little. She turned to me. "If you want more vegetables Ellen, just let me know." Becca passed me for her locker.

I waded through the crowd, dropping behind Daniel, remembered the scent of blood, of ash, of ozone so strong it might have risen from my trembling flesh. Of death. A monster rising in the dark that wasn't dark enough. Pain grounded me. I came to with both hands clutching my hair and students making a wide detour around me. Just a storm. Just a dream.

"Ellen."

"I'm fine, it's just…" for a wild moment I thought of asking Daniel if he thought it was real. If he really believed his pet theory. If myth was reality.

But what if he said yes?

"Nothing. Being in the middle of that thing. It got to me." Just a storm. Just a dream.

He opened his mouth, thought the better of what he was going to say and went with: "Yeah, they've had people babbling about all kinds of weirdness but it was dark. Everything's scarier in the darkness." We came to his locker. "You sure you're alright."

"I will be," I said. Didn't believe those words but he accepted them and waved me goodbye. Alone, I finally resolved to talk to Percy about it. Wasn't courageous. The fear was eating me alive so badly I had to ask him or go insane with crazy flashbacks and theories. Just ask him. Get the record straight and sleep easy. That was the plan.

Only, just like with the presentation, when I wanted him, Percy was nowhere in sight. Not with Rachael in gym class—who looked like she needed a friend, slumping alone and nudging a baseball bat with her toe. Not talking to Mr. Blofis just before English or being followed around by a herd of nerds like a sheepdog with his flock. The clock was ticking down and if I backed out now I'd back out forever. With no Percy in sight I went to the next best source.

He of the unfortunate name and mythology obsession: Mr. Blofis.

"Sir? Mr. Blofis?" I peeked into his office. No one was there but the place was cluttered with books and a stack of graded papers enshrined his computer. From the titles, we were going to have another Greek mythology unit. He'd better not partner me up with Percy again, at least not if it ended in a presentation.

"Ellen?"

My nerves were so on-edge I jumped and kicked him while turning around. Mr. Blofis, arms full of as big a load of books as Chelsea ever had, jerked back. "Oh, I am so sorry." I just kicked a teacher. "I was just…you startled me." My heart slowed down from vibration speed.

He nodded distractedly as though he hadn't felt the blow. "Here I am. May I help you with anything?"

Is Percy dangerous? That was the first question on the tip of my tongue. People tossed all kinds of rumors around about him, though the worst ones had died down after he'd saved us from the shooter. I'd gotten to know him better on our paired assignment, so I hadn't thought about that question in a while, but now…

"You wouldn't happen to know where Percy is?" Was what I asked.

Mr. Blofis gave me a shaky smile, "He's…he's been rather busy, actually. You know the camp he goes to? Well they've been expanding and he's one of its councilors, so he's needed to help out."

"Oh, okay."

Now wasn't that a weird picture: trouble-magnet Percy who skipped out on half his classes and presentation day was in a position of responsibility. A camp counselor? Not the kind of job I expected. "Hey. Are they looking for more help? Chelsea kinda lost her job when her workplace got squashed."

I never thought I'd see Mr. Blofis fidget for an answer. Like our roles were reversed and I was the teacher and he was the student wracking his brain for a plausible lie. "Ah, thank you but no. They are hiring within the camp only. Besides, the pay is abysmal; it is mostly volunteer work."

"Oh. Well, I hope he comes back soon."

"Me too," the English teacher said, still looking lost.

Before the last of my courage left, I blurted. "Hey Mr. Blofis, were you…there?" Normally people didn't need to say more because 'There' was enough of a word but when he only stared at me wide-eyed I elaborated, "With all the storms and quake and…and everything."

His face spasmed and for a moment he wasn't looking at me, or the classroom, but much further away. His throat jerked, fighting for speech. He won that battle but his voice came out raspy. "Yes."

Every taunt muscle in his body screamed the truth. He had been there. I knew, just from looking at him. Just from that one-word answer that he had seen. Like me. For a moment I thought about bringing my questions to him: had Percy been there? Was there actually a battle? Had he seen…it?

The words were on the tip of my tongue and I opened my mouth to ask, but my throat filled with cotton and ice. I backed out of the room, mumbling some placating words and waving him goodbye. In a trance, I headed toward the bus and took a seat, question unasked.

I was afraid the answer would be yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Didn't want to wrap a reveal up too neatly. Or too quickly. It was dark, stormy and Ellen went from sleeping beauty to Oh Holy Shit. Not the best mindset for seeing or remembering clearly. On the flip side she knows—no matter how much she tried to deny it—that she saw something beyond mortal life. Hades made one hell of an impression.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your kudos and reviews and support. Glad you're enjoying this!

Becca was the first one of our group to ask. "Have you guys seen Percy?" To Tomson's usual targets.

He shifted his extra-stuffed backpack and glanced around. "Uh…no, not today. Or yesterday. Or the day before."

Another girl, fiddling with a much chewed-on pen, spoke up, "I think he's sick," she looked up and jerked her gaze away quickly, "I hope he gets better soon."

Tomson glared as he passed. Targets scattered. Our old bully was on the war-path now that Percy Jackson hadn't shown up in…how long had it been? Days? A week or two? He might skip a couple classes but nothing like this. Well, if he was sick or missing or holed up in his camp, the easiest person to ask was Mr. Blofis.

The English teacher gave us a tight smile, "He's…um…busy. But hopefully he'll be back soon."

"Okay." Maybe he was sick with something embarrassing, like mono. I tried not to think about other possibilities, couldn't imagine something that horrible happening to my worst enemy. He was just sick. Only, another day became another week, another week dragged into another month and no Percy. By November the whispers were in full swing. No one had seen Percy Jackson anywhere and no one was so oblivious to miss the bags under Mr. Blofis's eyes. Sally though, the one time I ran into her, she clenched her hands like they'd be more comfortable clasped, praying.

Definitely not just a sickness.

Rumors circled around, he'd run away or was kidnapped or had been thrown in jail or secretly died—Mr. Blofis gave detention to the first person who spouted that rumor in his hearing. He did say Percy was missing, possibly kidnapped, and the police had looked and hadn't found him. "Percy's tough. He's the toughest young man I've ever met and ever will meet. He'll survive." Sounded like Mr. Blofis was trying to convince himself. A month after disappearing? Percy was probably dead but no one was willing to shatter the teacher's delusion.

The rumors distracted people for a while but school life went on. Tomson grew bolder. Mr. Blofis threw him in detention more often while Ms. Parker grumbled about his sudden turn for the worse. We got brief reminders of Jackson every time we saw the English teacher's expression but as the months continued he got bogged down in grading and tests, drawn face turning from anxious to resigned.

Percy stopped coming up in our conversations. The corner seat in the cafeteria beside Rachael's—who had moved to some other school—was filled with other students and their bulging backpacks. No one waited beside an empty locker. It got re-assigned to another new student and rumors started up in her wake. Sure, a bunch of people missed him, especially when Tomson was convinced Jackson was gone for good, but who here had really known him? Percy Jackson was just that disappeared kid.

He vanished. From our speech, from our thoughts, from everything. Life went on in Goode High as if no one had ever heard of a boy named Percy Jackson.

"So, camping trip this summer?" Becca asked.

"Definitely. In the mountains where my face ain't gonna melt off," Chelsea said.

"I don't understand why we can't rent a cabin," Daniel said.

"What's the point of going camping if we're going to be staying inside a building?" asked Becca.

"Floors that aren't crawling with bugs and don't leak with every storm," said Daniel. "And don't forget wolves and mountain lions."

"You pay for it, you can have your damn cabin," Chelsea said.

"Mountain lions and wolves are extinct in the east," Becca pointed out.

"—and there are strange beasts too." Daniel's voice grew quiet as he looked around, suddenly solemn. "Monsters."

That word still gave me a full-body chill because I knew monsters weren't just a figment of imagination or things that cowered under the bed. Cabins started looking better, but those walls were only an illusion. What I'd seen could have squashed log walls like I could squash an ant-hill.

"You don't have to worry," Chelsea patted Daniel. "They ain't desperate enough to chew on your ass."

"Thanks for reassuring me I'm not good enough to eat," Daniel said, "But I'm talking about all the unexplained sightings. They've skyrocketed. I read that there's been more paranormal, cryptid and UFO sightings this past month than there have been all of last year."

"So you wanna poke around for aliens?"

"As long as you go first."

"They better not be brain controlling ones," Chelsea said.

We compromised on camping. Becca hauled out her four-person tent but Daniel got to bring his own bug-free mattress—as long as he didn't expect the rest of us to fold it back into its stupid little box. For the first time in forever Chelsea wasn't working a weekend, none of us had homework that couldn't be put off until Monday, and Daniel and I didn't have any family obligations. We piled into my car, which finally stopped whistling whenever I drove it. I plugged up that gash with glue, duct-tape and everything else I could get my hands on until it stopped making noise. Not long after we piled in, Daniel started talking about his cousin.

"Yeah, he's been dating this pilot-trainee gal and they're serious. Suddenly no more time for little old me."

"He's just in love," Becca said.

"Yeah, remember when you were dating what's his name? If he was driven half as crazy as I was—" Chelsea said.

"You guys are supposed to back me up here," Daniel said.

Cruise control was on the fritz, so we agreed to drive in shifts. After a couple hours, I pulled over to the side of the road and switched out with Chelsea. Then I dug through my bag, searching for that medieval doorstopper series, a Song of Thrones or something that I'd been meaning to read. They weren't there. Crap. But we were already two hours out and I didn't want to fight through traffic again. "Hey, Daniel, can I borrow your book series? The Percy Jackson one?"

Daniel looked ready to explode with glee. Becca face-palmed and Chelsea said, "Take back those words, you know not what you invoke."

"Of course." I had five books shoved in my arms, "Take as long as you need. Just don't damage the covers or read them while drinking coffee—"

"—and use tongs to change the pages," Chelsea said.

"It's not too late to turn back Ellen, I've got The Hunger Games." Becca waved a book at me.

"Maybe after these."

Chelsea shook her head sadly, "There will be no 'after these', there will only be Daniel drawing you from your safe shell into a geeky debate of mythological nerdiness."

"And then you will have to read them too. Mwah, ha, ha, ha, ha." Daniel seriously said that, the 'Mwah' and everything.

I set four of the books on the empty middle seat next to me and buckled them in. Daniel rolled his eyes and turned back to Becca, "You know guys, I've got this new really weird theory…" I opened the first book and got lost in the pages. Didn't need to hear another of Daniel's new theories, which brushed a little too close to the truth I'd seen. These days, I needed some fiction.

"If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.

I smiled. An amateur attempt to scare me. To make the books seem reality. But nothing compared to seeing…nothing compared to living that.

I drowned myself in a fictional world.

We found a likely tent-site only a little way from the gravel road. I switched The Lightning Thief for The Sea of Monsters and grabbed the tent. Didn't take long to start sweating. When you're lugging a backpack of supplies, a camping stove, a tent and a mattress—Daniel's problem—a couple hundred feet becomes a couple miles. "Remind me why we didn't get a cabin?" Daniel asked.

"Cause you're the cheapskate who didn't want to pay up," said Chelsea. "Less chatter and more pitching. Come on, before the mountains say its lights off. Ellen, get your nose out of that book, you're turning into Daniel."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. I've been tortured for years having the best book series to geek around and none of my friends have read it," he hung his head over one of the tent-poles like a condemned prisoner. Then perked up, "Hey, which book are you on anyway?"

"The Sea of Monsters. Ack!" A fold of tent collapsed on me, burying me in canvas. "Crap."

Becca hustled over, "Don't worry, that happens all the time. These poles are finicky."

"Oh awesome, you know that's based on the Odyssey. Like the whole journey, though Annabeth was more in the role of Odysseus than Percy, even if he's the main character…"

I stopped paying attention. Daniel's words caught a memory and dragged it forward, something Percy told me on the first day of our project together. "I practically lived the Odyssey—"

Ridiculous. I put the book aside as we set up our sleeping bags in the tent and Chelsea crawled in to change clothes. But…the warrior who fought that monster had looked like Percy. Dark hair. Similar height and build. That memory was as clear as a picture, though it was too dark to see his features. Had Percy been there?

Becca dropped off with the sun and Chelsea told Daniel to turn off the god-damn flashlight already and go to sleep. I stared at the blue canvas, wide awake in the darkness.

I'd never asked.

The melodious sounds of a hundred screaming birds and piercing brightness killed whatever sleep I managed to snatch on the ground. Daniel was way too smug about his mattress. "Hotels. Comfort. That's the way to go." He stepped out of the tent.

Crash. "Yaargh!"

And stumbled back in like a squirrel dodging death. A wheel was parked where he'd been standing. A wheel that belonged to an awfully strange car.

"Hey watch it! Are you blind?" Chelsea kicked her sleeping bag open, face as baggy as her clothes.

I stuck my head out for a better look. The car had an old-timey build to it like someone had attached an engine to a wagon, though I couldn't see the details. The whole thing was bronze instead of black. The driver was someone I knew, her face familiar and that expression even more familiar. "I know you." But I couldn't think of the name.

"Annabeth." She spoke in clipped tones.

Like in the books. Another not-coincidence. Had the author simply known her like they had Percy? Or was there a deeper connection. I squinted at the car, which came into focus, looking less car-like as it did.

"—seen him?"

"Huh?" I stopped staring at their vehicle.

"Percy Jackson. Have you seen him?" Her stare sharpened.

"Um no? Not for months." My last thought about him was that he was probably dead.

Not even Chelsea dared tell Annabeth that.

Her co-pilot placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "We'll find him. The ship is almost built and Jason—"

"Jason barely remembered his own name when he first came to camp," Annabeth said. "I'm not depending on him."

The guy awkwardly shuffled his feet. They scraped like tap-dancing shoes. "Is this about Jason…or Luke?"

That was the wrong thing to say. She clenched a hand into his thick, curly hair and yanked him away from the door. "Let's go." With a whip-like crack, the vehicle started down the road, but before it vanished into the trees, the whole thing floated. Just flew right off the ground like a wizard broomstick and over the forest.

"Up, up, and away," said Daniel as they left.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. "Did you guys see that?"

"A flying chariot?" Chelsea asked. "No." She ducked back in the tent, "I did not see that. I'm still asleep. Wake me up when there's coffee."

I shook my head and followed her, but couldn't get to sleep with the hard ground and the light of dawn shining in my eyelids. More fiction would do me good. I flipped through the second book to the marked passage and continued reading about Annabeth in a chariot race. Was that a chariot I'd seen?

But if you recognize yourself in these pages…


	11. Chapter 11

Reports of strange natural disasters played on the many display TVs as I shopped for school supplies. The last time strange things had happened, they'd led up to the worst night of my life. And now? Terrible earthquakes in Alaska. Weird destruction in California. The Mediterranean was getting more of the same and if so it should stay over there. But it wasn't. The ripples of an earthquake rocked New York again, triggering flashbacks to the last natural disaster. By the prickling of my thumbs, something wicked this way was coming, and the wait was driving me crazy.

A person appeared in my path. I stopped my cart, sending school supplies clattering. "Oh, sor—Percy?"

The handsome young man I'd nearly run over was, in fact, the missing and presumably dead Percy Jackson. A little taller, traded his baby fat for adult muscle and the puberty gods had answered his prayers for the price of few more scars.

But not dead. No moaning or pasty skin. He hauled a cart full of school stuff as normal as me.

(That kid who set the school on fire…)

I was unpleasantly reminded of a certain book series. When I re-focused on him, he was giving me a puzzled look. Maybe because of my episode. "Yeah." Or maybe he knew me from somewhere but couldn't quite peg me. "Ellen?"

"Yeah," I said. "You were dead." Stupid mouth.

He smirked. A sharper, darker look than normal, "Not yet. Kidnapped and stuff but not dead."

"We all thought…the whole school," And Mr. Blofis and Sally hadn't heard a word from him in months, "Where the hell have you been?"

Did I really want to know?

He shrugged and I could see the walls closing up around him. Someone stepped out from behind him—woah, he hadn't been there a second ago—and spoke flatly, "He's been around."

Silence descended as Percy bowed his head and tried to calm his breathing in a way that was painfully familiar. I turned my attention to Creepy Goth Guy, though I couldn't remember his name. As a kid, he'd been unsettling, even uncanny and age had only made him taller, skinnier and creepier. He was wearing black, though with a splash of color on his shirt this time. It read Camp Half-Blood, the first two words in bone-white lettering and the last dripping red.

Cheery guy.

Finally, Percy returned to reality and gave me a splintered smile. "Like Nico said, here and there."

(Nico—a son of Hades.)

After reading the first four books, between the Greek Camp Half-Blood to Percy fighting a Greek vampire who set Goode High school on fire, the seed of suspicion couldn't stay dormant anymore. It was ridiculous. Insane. But meeting Percy and his friend Nico again raised it to new heights. Percy Jackson had one friend in school—

(Rachael Elizabeth Dare…who can see through the Mist.)

—Never shared anything, was allergic to technology and had dyslexia and ADHD. "So you going back to school?" I said to stop that train of thought. I glanced at Nico who was creepier than any guy had any right to be—no matter how much black they wore. "And are you starting Goode too?"

Percy nodded, "Lots to catch up on but they'll give me some tests to take over winter break and if I pass them its back to my regular class. Nico won't have to do as much, lucky guy had tutors." Percy nudged him.

Nico ducked his head slightly and shuffled away awkwardly before composing himself, "Not certain how helpful those teachings will be in mor—Goode High."

"Well, I'm sure you'll do fine. Better than Percy anyway." He had missed most of the school year and he was gonna make it all up in four months? I wouldn't have a prayer of doing that. No way. "Good luck with your year."

"Thanks. Same with you. I'd better get this stuff checked out so I can get back to studying. See you in school."

He looked like he'd already been studying so hard he'd worn himself to the bone—if that's all it was—but I didn't try to stop him. I had some reading to do. My insides churned at the thought but curiosity was stronger than fear. I needed to know.

(If you feel something stirring inside—stop reading immediately.)

I didn't hold out much hope for Percy. In the world of academia, reading and writing quickly was what mattered, not whatever skills he might have. Doubt he honed schooling while kidnapped. But, he was determined because anytime anyone saw him, it was buried up to his eyeballs in studying. Just like today, where he sat in his usual spot (which had been cleared for him once more) with lunch on one side, surrounded by Book-henge and his usual entourage. Minus Nico di Angelo, who had a different lunch period.

Tomson strode up with a swagger. A whole year without Percy Jackson, a growth spurt of six inches and a hundred pounds had swollen the bully's ego back to bloated normalcy. A couple of people hesitantly helping Percy with his assignment slunk back as the larger boy's shadow enveloped them. He slammed both meaty hands on the table with a thud that caught everyone's attention—except the teachers—and loomed over Percy.

No reaction.

"Hey Jackson," he smirked nastily at the others who were nudging away from Percy now, "Looks like hanging out with the geeks turned you into one."

"Must be contagious," Percy said monotonously. "Better stay away."

Shawn laughed. "Nah, I'll do you a favor." He grabbed the notebook Percy was writing on.

His fingers never touched it. Percy never touched him. Never needed to. Maybe Tomson had the height and weight (and ego) on his old nemesis, but in that missing year Jackson had gained something more. He looked up and glared. Just glared. Our resident bully reeled away like the man had laid him out flat.

I'm glad no one looked at me like that.

Tomson left without the flimsiest excuses to everyone watching and people started crowding around Percy again. One of them hesitantly began explaining a passage the man had been stuck on. I heard a soft, "Thanks," from that direction.

The next day, Tomson switched seats to the furthest corner of the cafeteria, as far from Percy Jackson as possible.

"About time," Daniel said. "Think he's gonna try picking on the other new kid? Di Angelo." He clearly wanted to watch when it happened, and immortalize the results in video.

"No one picks on that new kid," Chelsea said. "Fresh meat he's not. And nobody's heard nothing about where he was or what he's done before coming here."

"Oh come on, look at what everyone said about Percy, but he's alright," Becca said. "Give the poor guy the benefit of the doubt." In a lower voice, she added, "I think Percy's his only friend here."

Daniel smiled again, blatantly secretive. "I'm certain he has other friends, probably from a summer camp nearby. Hey Ellen, you done with the series yet?"

"With all your bugging it's a miracle she's gotten past the first book," said Chelsea.

"He just wants someone else to geek out and share all his nerdy theories with," Becca said. "He doesn't realize some people have lives beyond the Percy Jackson series."

"No we don't," Daniel said ominously. "None of us do. Some of us just haven't realized it."

Chelsea and Becca laughed, but I stayed silent. Had Daniel guessed what I was still coming to terms with? Or was he only joking? It was a hint, one of many, that I should put the series aside. The more I read, the more the book's opening sounded less a childish attempt to be serious and more like a real warning.

The books painted a very damning puzzle piece that so neatly slotted in the great gap of Percy's life, that explained so many weird things. Weird things I knew existed. Weird things that were happening again. So, after school, in the comfort of my bedroom, I dove head-first into the last half of the last book. The final battle.

"Cracks appeared in the road, the sidewalk, the sides of the buildings…"

Sweat broke out from every pore. My pulse hyperventilated, remembering asphalt rent in two, swallowing a dead body too young for their stomach churned, and I had to force myself to read further. It could have been the author mixing reality with fantasy, the book hadn't been published until after The Storm.

"As the dead soldiers formed up ranks with their guns and swords and spears, an enormous chariot roared…"

But I hadn't just remembered a storm. The war horn's cry resounded in my ears, an echo from memory. The pages of The Last Olympian slipped from my fingers and spilled open on the scene I could never forget. Horses fashioned from darkness. The demons. Chariot decorated with scenes of painful death. Yes, a chariot. That was what I had seen, what I could see now in my mind's eye, like no modern construction, but an ancient tank.

I shut the book but not before catching another fragment…Hades himself, Lord of the Dead.

The Devil.

Nausea curdled every cell in my body. That book, those descriptions, made me physically sick. The memory of that thing I now had a name for made my skin bristle with cold even on the warmth of my bed. Hades, lord of the dead. It all made too much sense. What I'd seen hadn't been a dream or the aftershock of a natural disaster or a mortal battle. I couldn't make myself believe that. "Stop." I shoved the book away. But it made horrible, perverse, perfect sense.

I stopped reading then and locked the final book in my backpack to take over to Daniel's. But I couldn't pretend anymore. I'd stopped too late.

Don't say I didn't warn you.


	12. Chapter 12

"Says here they found bigfoot…a one-eyed bigfoot," Becca scanned through the article on her new phone. "Somewhere in Southern California."

Not bigfoot, a cyclops. But I said nothing. I wouldn't have believed my own thoughts a month or two ago. What hope had I to make anyone else believe.

"Yeah right, and I'm Queen of England," said Chelsea.

"You make a good queen your majesty," Daniel said with a bow.

"These articles are appearing everywhere," Becca pointed out. She back-spaced from the article and scrolled through a list of other, similar stories. Who knew how many thousands of people had become witnesses like me to get those writings published.

"The power of pot," Chelsea said. "Ellen, back me up."

"'s not bigfoot," I said. Nausea threatened again but I swallowed it back before my lunch could come up again.

"There must be some reason for all these sightings." Becca flipped her phone through all the news stories. "It's not just bigfoot. Sightings of all kinds of cryptids and aliens have been popping up everywhere—mysterious lights, monsters in rivers and lakes and every body of water, winged lions, winged horses—"

"Winged pigs?" Chelsea teased.

"—and it's started all of a sudden. I mean last year there were a few articles about some Chupacabra in the tabloids. Now there's been half a dozen UFO articles uploaded since this morning. I didn't even have to search. What's changed?"

"Maybe it's like one of those weird psychology effects," Chelsea said. "Someone does a crop-circle or pulls a bigfoot tape prank or the loch ness monster for kicks and suddenly everyone's seeing flying saucers and giant ape men and sea monsters everywhere."

"That sounds nice," I said. A nice, rational explanation. Flying pigs were more likely, but it was comfortingly logical. Too bad rationality and logic had gone out the window, if either of those things were in the room in the first place.

"Anyway it's probably just someone's version of an elaborate—"

"—That's enough! Settle down class." Mr. Karanja ordered as he strode into the room. "Now, since everyone is so fascinated with mythical animals, we are going to learn some of the old stories about where they came from. The myths of ancient heroes. Ah Percy, glad you could join us, and only a minute late this time."

Percy didn't have the grace to look sheepish or the rudeness to look snarky. He trudged into the room like he'd pulled two all-nighters in a row. His shoulders slumped. The bags beneath his eyes were packed with black. He slumped down in the nearest empty seat rather than stumble all the way back to his favorite spot. Once his ass hit the chair, he collapsed unmoving. Mr. Karanja didn't have the heart to snap him out of it.

"Now, we will begin with the oldest recorded hero, Gilgamesh. Like most ancient heroes, he was a demigod—"

In a fit of irony the universe couldn't ignore, a multi-headed dragon ripped apart the entire back wall of the classroom.

What the Fuck?

It wasn't the first or scariest mythical thing I'd seen but monsters aren't easy to adjust to. Especially not the many-headed, fire-breathing, acid-drooling variety. It focused on us. The rest of the class was as shocked stupid as me, but some of them were already reacting. Like me. When a nightmare comes through the wall, you react. Fast. While minds were trapped in a mental 'is this real or is this fake' debate, bodies were up and running. As the first drop of drool slid from dagger-like teeth down a spiny scale to burn through tile and concrete like paper, my nearest classmates were already out the door. Those closest to the monster were already leaping away and bolting for the only escape. A few people screamed. But only a few and their screams echoed in the eerie breathless silence of the rest of the class.

The monster took a deep breath through twelve mouths and everyone, whether they'd seen a mythical beast before or not, knew what was about to happen. The sound of all that air rushing in, of sparks flickering in a dozen throats, kicked our brains straight in the primal fear buttons. The turn-you-into-a-superhero type fear I'd experienced only once before in my life. One second I was free of my desk. The next I was at the door.

Downside of superpower-inducing fear? It's damn near impossible to think through. Sure, adrenaline was maxing out my strength and speed, but higher brain functions went the blue screen of death. My vision tunneled to the only way out not blocked by a monster of myth. The doorway.

Every other human had the same instinct. Those nearest to the door had escaped but twenty other students crashed into each other at the same three-foot gap. We pushed and wriggled like trapped fish. The press of our bodies blocked each other off. The sound of breathing stopped. My heart did too. Age old instinct to freeze and hope the monster wouldn't notice us. We were about to die because none of us could think and no one wanted to take a step toward the monster.

All except Percy Jackson.

Fire burst forth from all the heads. Water burst forth from the ceiling at the same time. As the two elements clashed, Percy reacted with the same blinding speed I'd seen on that battlefield. Unlike us, he didn't flee from the monster. He ran toward it. A glowing sword appeared in one hand and a shield expanded from his wrist, protecting his other side. And I who was about to die, turned around to watch.

The monster lunged. Percy brought his sword down on the junction of one throat, holding the shield high with the other arm. Celestial bronze slid through scales and flesh. Fire bathed his shield. He turned, shield pressed against the bleeding throat while his sword fended off enraged fangs. Mist from the ceiling condensed again and choked half the throats. The smell of burned flesh permeated the room. Two more stumps twitched, charred. Percy was already moving to another, faster than any human—adrenaline-charged or not—had a right to move and the monster was moving faster than anything that size ought to. I couldn't see the strikes, lightning fast, or the slashes, liquid-quick.

Dagger-sized teeth appeared feet from our faces. My heart dropped like a stone. Gleaming fangs closed on a straggler who couldn't push himself any closer to the doorway. Suddenly shadows engulfed him. Jaws closed around darkness. Percy's sword sliced through the outstretched throat a second later. Steam rose again from water and fire colliding to choke the ceiling in an odd cloud of mist. The monster had to lower its heads to see. Gleaming, slit-pupiled eyes, a dozen of them, settled on us, crunchy and good with ketchup. More heads lunged. More people vanished in the shadows. The heads that tried to eat us were turned into charred stumps as quickly as they struck. Slowly, my heart began twitching and trembling again. Hope sparked. Percy was fighting. We could live.

The room stank like a mad scientist's laboratory. Flames burned and acid dissolved everywhere but Percy was a one-man barrier between us and death. Water formed a wall under his control between us and the flame; acid splattered harmlessly on his shield; his sword sliced through every hungry head. In seconds, the monster pulled back, trying to flee. In seconds it had only one head. Silence died in the room. Every ear caught the audible hiss of his sword as it sliced through the air, then the last, writhing throat without slowing down. The monster collapsed into a pile of flesh. I could breathe again.

Thus did Percy Jackson defeat the hydra. With bronze arms and armor and bloodied, torn clothing like some kind of demigod out of legend.

Because he was.

"Always the last head," Percy grumbled, shattering expectations of divine heritage. I remember reading about the hydra in Percy's book on the heroes, how one of its heads was the immortal one. It thrashed. Acid sprayed and fire sparked from gaping jaws until the earth broke open and swallowed it whole.

"Percy are you okay?" Paul Blofis dashed into the classroom, paying no mind to the crowd he pushed through.

"Yeah, it was just a hydra." Like a twelve-headed dragon was no big deal. Like he didn't have a shield strapped to one arm, a blood-soaked sword in his other hand and a shredded shirt baring muscles like a modern-day Hercules.

My knees turned to water. Most of the class suffered the same fate, except Daniel. With myth unmistakably reality, he stood grinning like the world's biggest fanboy whose biggest, most impossible pet fan theory had just been proven right before his eyes.

"I knew it!"


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all so much for all your comments and kudos. Glad you’ve enjoyed this story so much! Unfortunately, this is the final chapter. It’s been fun guys!

"—mass hysteria gripped Manhattan's Goode High School following a mysterious explosion in its history classroom. No deaths reported, but all affected students have been rushed to emergency rooms for drug tests. Police say this is not an isolated incident. Recent tragedies and outbreaks of hysteria have exploded across the country. Authorities have quarantined the area and arrested a possible suspect, one Perseus Jackson…"

"—fire and flooding at police headquarters. Currently the only known escapee is Perseus Jackson, suspected of detonating a hallucinatory chemical on Goode High and on the police station he was brought to. Dozens of officers swear they saw and shot a 'monster'. Six officers were hospitalized during the attack and escape…"

"—thousands of pagan worshipers have taken to the streets, claiming the return of the old gods. Overnight, cults sprang up around ancient Greek, Roman, Norse and even Egyptian deities due to a rash of creature sightings bearing resemblance to monsters of myth…"

"—attack halted by the shocking arrival of several dozen young archers. Calling themselves 'The Hunters of Artemis,' a moniker not so easily mocked anymore, they shot bullet-resistant unknowns..."

"—Proved no less than a hundred and thirteen different photographs and videos to be unforged."

"This. Is. Real."

"Beasts of myth and legend are myth and legend no more!" Screamed a headline. Right below was a picture of someone riding a winged horse and battling a giant. Because monsters were a thing. Demigods were a thing. Real things. And Percy Jackson, as he'd told me a lifetime ago, was up to his eyeballs in Greek Mythology.

Now we were all right there with him.

"—and with one mighty blow struck Kronos in the real magical palace of the Gods and saved the whole world!"

"Heard he's off fighting monsters full-time now, because he's the most powerful demigod and the monsters are attacking left and right."

"Aren't monsters attracted to demigods?"

"Not anymore. Some sort of stupid monster-curse got broken. Sucks for everyone now."

"—fought through hell and back. Like literally! And it was chock full of a million more monsters than we ever see on TV…"

"—their fault. They better all be fighting the monsters—"

"Damnit you idiots, it's all in the books. Just read the books damnit!" Daniel shouted. Silence ensured. Several people stared at him before trading more gossip, leaving my friend to grumble about the unfairness of it all.

"Yeah, yeah, you predicted it," Chelsea patted him on the shoulder with mock sympathy. "The world's flipped upside down—."

I liked it right side up.

"—Pigs are flying. The mystical barrier of secrecy collapsed—and ain't that a pity. Monsters exist and find us tasty with ketchup. Remind me, why is living a fantasy series a good thing?"

Becca shrugged, "It's not, but things have always been this way. Or at least ever since a curse and the empowering of the Mist. Percy didn't just suddenly become a demigod three weeks ago, he's always been one. We're just finding out about it now."

"Some of us figured it out before the Hydra burst in and knocked the stupid out of everyone's heads," Daniel grumbled.

Some of us had out eyes opened by Hades. Hopefully that wouldn't happen again any time soon, even if the God of the Dead wasn't what Disney thought. I'd prefer him Disney-style.

"You were right. We were wrong. He's a modern-day Hercules. You happy now?" Chelsea said.

"I'd be happier if people just read the—"

"Well I'm not," said Becca. "Now everyone is getting attacked by monsters and people like Percy are being drafted into a task force to fight them all the time."

"Would 'I told you so' be less childish in three-part harmony?"

"Daniel, shut the hell up," Chelsea said. "I'm goin' deaf from all your carrying on." She shook her head, then let it fall between her hands. "Oh my lord."

"I know, it's crazy," Daniel said. "I mean I guessed but there's a big difference between having a wild fan theory in my head and seeing Percy chop up a Hydra."

"You think this is crazy awesome shit? My first job got squished by a titan and three days after I finally got a second job, guess what bursts in there? Who's paying for the damage they're doing. I can't afford monsters. Next thing'll be my house—"

It had been weeks since the first world and mind-blowing revelation and people were still feeling the tremors of this re-arranged reality. Or, original-flavor reality because the monsters and gods have always been real, we just got mass obliviated a few thousand years ago. But life had to go on. They couldn't close the school forever (though our history classroom was abandoned for the foreseeable future). Sooner or later, despite dragons and pegasi, we had to suck it up and get back to math and literature and five days of learning a week.

Including the resident demigod.

Everyone shut up once Percy Jackson walked in, looking more meager than mythical. His shirt had a cheerful 'finding Nemo' on it. His jeans had the pocket torn off on one side and a stain which persevered through many washings. His hair was messier than usual and he walked in the room like he'd pulled an all-nighter—which he probably had, just not studying. He didn't look like a demigod.

Except he did. Movie stars didn't look that gorgeous in front of cameras. No mortal human had eyes that intense shade of blue-green. I could imagine him gripping a trident in one hand, wielding it as easily as he commanded the ocean, beaten down as he looked.

Ms. Shirley twitched at his appearance before plastering a smile on her face. Strict teacher or not I felt kinda sorry for her. A few years ago, at my old school, this one student's father was some big-wig. Board of directors or something like that. One word from daddy big-wig and the teachers would be flying out the windows. They waited hand and foot on the brat.

This was fifty billion times worse. If Ms. Shirley said or did one thing wrong Percy Jackson could chop her up before the principal could fire her. One word to his daddy and our school would become the next Atlantis.

"Ah…sorry I'm late Ms. Shirley."

At least he wasn't a brat about it.

He walked past Tomson's row. The bully was as far away from Percy as he could possibly be; hunched down in his seat he was doing a 50's nuclear bomb drill. His face had gone past white and well into the gray-green of a zombie. His pants were only dry because he had no more pee to piss.

"Looks like he shit his pants," Daniel whispered gleefully.

"I am never taking that desk again," Chelsea said.

Despite Tomson's horror and the new lovely rumors flying around about the son of Poseidon—who's a thousand times more dangerous than the worst people thought—I was glad he was here. Monsters were all but impossible to kill, even with modern weapons. Having a demigod around was like having a hellhound by your side in the bad neighborhoods.

Which didn't make it any easier to talk to him.

"Oh, um, hi." I just barely stopped myself from running into him by the pool. 

"Hello," he stepped out of the pool in one smooth movement, completely dry, and turned toward the door.

"Sorry, you don't have to go," I called. He probably wanted to be in the water. I'd read the books. It felt comfortable for him to be in water and wow, wasn't that weird, knowing someone so well when you were just acquaintances in real life.

He sighed, "I'm not a performing seal." And god—or would that be gods—he sounded tired.

"I know…I'm not…I didn't want…I'm being weird aren't I?" I just couldn't not think about the fact that he was a demigod. About how impossible that should be. About how he could have simply lifted all the water out of that pool with the power of his mind.

"Slightly a lot," Percy said.

I frowned, "You're not supposed to agree with me." Silence. "I'm glad…for you, you know, saving our lives. And sorry your life story is being written and sold as entertainment."

He grimaced and looked resigned, "It makes explaining easier. And having people read all about my mooning over Annabeth is pretty low on sucky events of my life."

My turn to grimace, "Will uh…will we ever find out why the Mist broke? Or why that curse the Lamia put on you guys broke?"

Percy was so silent that I thought he might have not heard or fallen asleep standing up. "The Mist was chipped away. Titans started it. So much to cover up. Then the giants and finally," he motioned with Riptide. "It still exists but the mystical world just burst like a water balloon. Too much to hide."

I nodded.

"The curse of the Lamia." He looked at his shoes as the pool of water thrashed like a living being. With obvious effort, he quieted the water, then looked up. This time there was no mirage effect, no visual puzzle of teenager and adult. He'd been aged far older than me. "I tried to stop it."

He'd tried to stop someone from breaking the curse that made him monster bait? He wanted to be chased by monsters for the rest of his life?

Suddenly something went off. Percy took off a phone, flashing red, and said, "Where." Someone must have answered. "On my way." Then he whistled.

Shadows exploded into a massive, red-eyed beast that bounded straight toward us. "Holy shit!" I yelled but the beast pounced on Percy instead. And he…

…Laughed as the big dog licked him. "Ugh, Mrs. O'Leary," he pulled himself up. A glob of water jumped out of the pool and whirled around him, cleaning off dog spit and drying him. Demigods. So weird. "Good girl. Come on, we've got another monster."

He vaulted on the massive hellhound and the shadows swallowed them both. I shook my head. Damn, this was our new normal.

But I had another thought. Encountering Hades and having nightmares and panic attacks afterwards was bad enough but what if I'd had to dodge monsters too? My flesh crawled at the thought. But Percy had tried to keep himself a target instead.

"Thank you."

He didn't hear me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whew! It's done. Thanks again for all your comments, favorites, follows and support. Happy Halloween everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> I heard this theory that the Mist shifts with viewer expectations. Paul has met Percy personally and his colleagues have heard only glowing things, so the Mist shifts with their expectations, just like it does with Ellen, who has only heard exaggerated rumors about Percy at best. So two people who witnessed the same event might have literally seen two different things.
> 
> Hope everyone enjoyed.


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